Walking A Fine Line
by The Sophisticated Shut In
Summary: AU. Leela is happily married to Lars, but struggling with feelings for Fry she thought were long-buried. Something is very wrong, and if she can't put it right, she might end up destroying more than just her marriage.
1. Chapter 1

**A / N : This is an Alternate Universe fanfiction. It follows canon up until the events of Bender's Big Score, with a few major differences : Hermes makes it through Leela's wedding without losing his body, and Lars never learns that a time-travel duplicate is always doomed, so he marries Leela. Fry never brings Leela and Lars to the cryogenics building, because he never has to comfort her at the party. Instead Leela is snatched and threatened by Nudar. Lars acts as he does in the film, but survives the blast, and Leela never finds out the truth about him.**

* * *

><p>The day that turned Leela's life upside down began like any other. She got up, brushed her teeth, jabbed herself in the eye with her contact, and then stumbled, blinded, back into the bedroom, where she promptly tripped over her own boots. It was a scenario she'd suffered many times before, and the reason apartment 1I had always been so sparsely furnished - but this time, there was a difference. Before the floor could smack in the forehead for the hundredth time, strong arms closed around her waist and hauled her upright ; her favorite low, throaty laugh tickled the back of her neck.<p>

"Whoops-a-daisy!"

_Lars. _

"Thanks," Leela laughed, embarrassed.

Lars settled himself on the end of the bed and grinned at her. "No problemo. Where's your hurry, anyhow?"

"Late for work," Leela grunted, as she stuffed her feet into her boots and reached for her jacket. It was only as she stood up, pushing her hair out of her eyes, that she noticed her husband was still watching her, wearing the soft, goofy smile that had first set her heart aflutter two years ago. She smiled despite herself.

"What? What is it? Is it my eye?"

Lars laughed. "Your eye's fine. I was just thinking . . . maybe it's the talcum powder you put in your boots, or maybe it's just _time _. . . but what the hell. Let's do it, Leela. Let's take the next step - let's have a baby!"

* * *

><p>Later on, when she'd untangled herself from the situation with laughter and maybes, Leela settled into her favorite chair in the Planet Express conference room and began to berate herself. Why hadn't she seen this coming? Why had she been so blindsided by the mere suggestion of children that Lars had actually had to point out that her mouth was hanging open? She was a married woman now, after all. She'd found the man of her dreams – kind, funny, selfless, <em>responsible – <em>and they had been married long enough that it shouldn't have come as a bolt from the blue. She'd always wanted a family, with a man who loved her, who accepted her for what she was, a man who was . . . _stable. _

_So why did she feel so panicked? _

And panic really was the only word for it. Something about this just didn't feel . . . right.

"Hey, Leela!" Amy's bright voice broke into her reverie, and Leela looked up. The Martian girl flopped into the chair opposite with the sort of careless, skinny-girl grace that set Leela's teeth on edge - though she atoned for it somewhat by knocking over a can of Slurm with her elbow and swearing in Cantonese as the sticky liquid splashed her sweatpants. "_Spleesh! _Sorry. Were you drinking that?"

Leela shook her head, and Amy sighed. "I guess it was Fry's. Oh well! The professor wants you, anyway. He's got a delivery for you."

The delivery, as it turned out, might have been cherry-picked to make Leela's day worse – delivering 10,000 packets of Big Pink gum to DOOP soldiers stationed on the planet Nelvar V. A quick survey of his webpage confirmed her worst suspiscions – Zapp Brannigan was currently in orbit around Nelvar V. Leela bit back a groan as she settled into the pilot's seat.

_Be – professional. _

She forced a smile. "Alright boys, buckle up! This is a very important delivery! The men on Nelvar V haven't had real meat in their rations for weeks, and if this government-sponsored consignment of ham-flavored gum doesn't placate them, things could get ugly."

"No problem." Bender relaxed into his own seat and there were twin _clank_s as he propped his feet up on the dashboard. "You can count on good ole Bender to diffuse any tension! Remember, _I'm _a war hero."

He tapped himself on the chest, where the Dirty Double Cross and an assortment of DOOP medals (not _all _of which had been awarded to Private Bender) now took pride of place.

Leela sighed. "Thank you, Bender. Fry, it's probably best not to mention you were a yellow-bellied war coward."

Fry ripped off a sloppy salute. "Can do!"

The corner of her mouth twitched and Leela quickly shifted her attention to the windscreen.

She shouldn't smile. It wouldn't be good for either of them to smile.

There were times when Leela wondered why Fry stayed at Planet Express. And then there times, usually hard on their heels, when she remembered that Fry's only living relative ownedPlanet Express, and Leela wondered why _she _stayed. She told herself - and Lars – that it was the job, that she loved being in command, having what was essentially her own ship, and with it the freedom to go anywhere. But there was no questioning how awkward things had become between her and Fry. Oh, they got along fine day-to-day, and to the casual observer, it might even seem as though nothing had changed – but something had. It wasn't easy to pinpoint. It was a feeling, more than anything, a distance that had sprung up between them and grown day by day, until at times she would catch Fry's eye across the conference table and feel as though a chasm had opened up between them, as though she could no longer read his idle thoughts – or no longer had the right to. There were little things too – he laughed less, and he watched himself all the time, as though scanning every sentence before he set it free. They were playing Fry-and-Leela like parts, and somewhere along the line they had both lost a little of what made them . . . Fry and Leela. That was probably the worst part – the self-awareness of it all, the sense of fraud. She had expected jealousy, but this was worse. Fry had, for once, done exactly as she'd asked. He'd recognized that Lars was a good guy (not a jerk like Adlai or Alcazar) and had backed away. He hadn't provided her with the bull-headed argument that would have been her excuse to storm away from her friend, and so they were stuck, stuck in this horrible limbo in which Bender diffused more tension than he knew . . .

Leela sighed, and reminded herself once more to be _professional. _

This would have been a little easier if she hadn't caught Fry's reflection in the windshield, watching her in steady, saddened silence. Once again, Leela berated herself. If she shouldn't smile, she definitely shouldn't sigh. It reminded her of too much past despair, too many stupid-but-strangely-sweet reassurances, and in the silence, the distance between them seemed suddenly limitless.

Leela swallowed the feeling, fixed her eye on the horizon, and slammed her boot to the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

Leela was still reminding herself to be professional (and wait a mature, married-woman's ten minutes before punching her former lover in the face) when the hulking shape of the Nimbus came into view. And below it Nelvar V, a squat little planet wreathed in noxious orange mist. As they drew closer Leela made out fighter jets struggling to crest the fog. As she watched, one of the sleek green shapes burst free of the cloudbank and arced high above them – aimed squarely at the belly of the Nimbus.

Leela hit the acclerator without thinking, furiously pummelling the comms button as the ship sped forward. There were people on that ship who would die if Zapp Brannigan couldn't wrest his eyes from the mirror. (Or more accurately, his webpage, on which Zapp, unbeknownst to Leela, was currently debating the merits of right boobie versus left – _and oh god Kif, what about the buttocks?) _

Still, the point remained sound – there _were _innocent people on board the Nimbus (even if Zapp Brannigan happened to be one of them) and she couldn't let them die!

But something was happening to the fighter jet as it narrowed in on the Nimbus – a crackling electric charge hit its sleek exterior and spread, slowing the jet until . . . .

_BOOM._

With a sound like the cork being pulled from the world's biggest bottle of champagne, the jet boomeranged off-course and out of sight, spinning out of the planet's orbit. It wasn't until she made to reverse that Leela noticed the stealthy crackle of electricity meshed around her own ship.

Of course. It was so Zapp Brannigan. An automatic defense system with one _tiny _flaw – an inability to tell the difference between friend and foe.

"Uh, Leela . . ."

Fry's voice sounded behind her, followed by Bender's decidedly more forthright cry of "Hey, Big Boots!"

And then too much happened, too fast.

Leela could never remember, later, which came first. Did the windscreen crack in the split second before they veered out of control, or in the desperate scrabble afterwards, when Bender's untethered, 40% titanium form smashed into it? Either way, the last thing she saw was a streak of foghat gray as Bender was sucked into the distance, his last words (_"Bender is going to kill youuuuuuuuuuuu!") _ringing in her ears. There was a moment of awful, sucking pressure, and then the emergency titanium windscreen clicked into place, shutting off her view of the stars.

In the shaky silence that followed, Leela reminded herself to breathe. _Be professional, _she ordered herself. _Assess the situation. _

Well . . . on the plus side, her eyeball was no longer at risk of being sucked into the vaccuum of space. On the other hand, the ship was adrift and off-course, and she couldn't see a thing. It pretty much amounted to the same thing.

Behind her, Fry was choking noisily on his own seatbelt.

Leela sighed and popped the clasp, watching him gasp for air.

"Bender!" he managed at last.

"Bender will be okay," Leela assured him. "Zapp will pick him up."

"Oh. Will Zapp pick _us _up?"

Leela grimaced. "If he can find us. We could be anywhere. And I've got nothing to navigate by!"

This wasn't quite true – they did have radar – but she was feeling peevish.

"Oh."

Fry fell silent, but his gaze continued to bore into the back of her neck as she rattled uselessly at the controls. Eventually, she gave up.

"Well _now _what do we do?"

Fry shrugged. "We could eat our shoes. I've always wanted to try Bender's Laces Linguini . . ."

"We are _not _eating our own shoes."

"Well I'm not having Toes Tartare."

Leela groaned. "Fry, just shut up."

The silence between them suddenly felt as taut as stretched elastic band.

She hadn't meant to say it – it had just slipped out! She'd been fraught and distracted, and Fry had been infuriatingly laidback, and she'd forgotten. Forgetten it was supposed to be awkward, forgotten their relationship wasn't the same anymore. For the smallest of moments the distance between them had faded. She hadn't been the woman who broke his heart and he hadn't been quietly broken-hearted. They'd just been Leela and Fry – and god, _she'd missed it. _

Leela flushed.

"I'm sorry, Fry."

Fry's forehead crinkled in confusion. "Why? You used to tell me to shut up ten times a day. I kinda liked it." He scuffed the floor with his shoe, avoiding her eye. "Leela?"

"What?"

Fry swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "Why did you stop?"

If Leela had been flushed before, her face was an inferno now. "It . . . it just didn't feel right, Fry. It didn't feel . . . fair."

Fry simply stared at her, apparently bewildered. "But . . . but it was what you did. It was what my Leela _did_. She nagged me. And nagged me."

"I know, but-"

"And nagged me."

"But that was then, and this is-"

"Boy, did she nag me . . ."

"Fry!"

At the sight of Fry's triumphant grin Leela groaned. But then the cheer faded from his expression somewhat, though the smile remained.

"I never minded."

"I know."

They lapsed into silence again, but this time, it wasn't so bad.

Leela stared blankly at what had formerly been the windscreen, drumming her fingers on the armrest. Fry sprawled in the co-pilot's chair and started to hum to himself, some old tune she hadn't heard in years.

_Hmm-hmm-hmm-HMMMM-hmmm-hmmm-hmmm-hmmm-HMMM-hmmm . . .. _

She knew this song, didn't she? It was . .. it was . . .

Leela blinked.

_Walking On Sunshine. _


	3. Chapter 3

Fry was on his seventeenth verse of Walking on Sunshine before Leela snapped.

"That's it – we're getting out of here."

Fry struggled out of his habitual slouch. "Great! Um. How?"

Leela tightened her ponytail and flexed her fingers, trying not to think too much about what she was going to say next. It wasn't entirely sensible, she knew, but Walking On Sunshine was starting to get to her.

"I flew this ship blindfolded once," she said firmly. "I can do it again."

Fry's mouth fell open. "Uhhh . . . not exactly."

Leela narrowed her eye. "What do you mean, not exactly?"

Fry squirmed.

"Fry!"

Fry writhed uncomfortably in his seat for another moment, and then blurted it out.

"_Not-exactly-I-flew-the-ship-for-you-don't-be-mad?"_

It was Leela's jaw that dropped this time. "You did _what? _Oh, god. We're boned."

To her surprise, Fry started to grin.

"Maybe not. Do you trust me?"

"With your life?" Leela snorted. "Absolutely not."

Fry waved this away undisputed, but pressed on. "Would you trust me with yours?"

The answer sprang to her lips before she even had time to think it over. Leela bit her tongue, and simply nodded instead.

Fry spun her round to face the controls, his smile a sudden supernova.

"Then let's do this."

* * *

><p>Leela tightened her grip on the wheel and glanced back at the ladder. There was a brief, muffled <em>"ow" <em>and then Fry's voice floated down from the gunner's seat.

"On your marks, captain!"

Leela swallowed nervously. Now that there was a comfortable distance between her and Fry, waiting for a rescue team didn't seem such a bad idea.

"I steer," she called up to him. "You navigate. Got it?"

"Sure thing. Can we go already? I left a tub of ice-cream on the couch and – _yow!"_

Leela smiled to herself. The sudden restart had been worth it just to picture Fry's face.

"Left!" he shouted frantically from above. "Left! Right! Oooh, ooh, asteroid belt at twelve'o'clock!"

Flying blind was probably one of the most foolish and terrifying things Leela had ever done, but it was also strangely exhilarating. Her body had taken over, yanking the controls left and right as though Fry's orders had bypassed her brain and gone straight to her hands. Her stomach lurched with every movement. Somewhere out there the ship scythed through asteroid belts and skirted black holes, in a graceful, spinning dance. Depth perception? Hah! She was flying _blind. _

Through the fog of adreneline, she noticed Fry's instructions becoming more frequent, more specialized. And there was noise from outside too, the grind of engines cooling and the sound of voices . . .

"Lower . . bit lower . . . left a bit . . . and _coast!" _Fry cried.

There was a strangled cry, followed by a scrape of metal on tarmac as the ship made an audibly sloppy landing.

Leela slammed the brakes on and raised the windshield. Cool Earth air struck her in the face. When her eye had adjusted to it, she made out a docking port in New New York, and a crowd. There were DOOP search and rescue ships there, and familiar faces. There was Bender, lighting up a cigar ; Kif, heaving an obvious sigh of relief ; and Lars, a little pale, but grinning nonetheless. There was an icepack wrapped around his right hand. And beside him – oh it was almost too perfect – stood a frazzled-looking Zapp Brannigan. He was sporting a shining black eye, and struggling to cram his tattered hairpiece back on his head.

There was a thump as Fry's sneakers hit the floor beside her and then her friend was laughing in her ear.

"We went right over the top of his head! Look at his face! Oh man, I hope Bender got pictures!"

Leela was laughing too before she knew it, excitement and terror bubbling up into a sort of madness. She had leapt from her seat without realizing it, and was pressed against Fry, laughing, spinning, the collar of his jacket pressed up against her nose as he muffled his hiccupy laughter in her neck. She felt his lips move against her skin when he next spoke, his unbridled, unthinking enthusiasm getting the better of him. It took a moment for her dizziness to subside, for his words to sink in - but when they did, they sank like a titanium anchor ; a hard, fast blow to the stomach that left her breathless and off-balance.

"You and me, Leela! You and me!"


	4. Chapter 4

"_You and me, Leela! You and me!"_

She was curled up on the couch with Lars, and Fry's words were eating away at the inside of her skull more effectively than any brain slug.

_You and me. _

That was the problem, wasn't it? Nothing had ever happened between them, but that wasn't the same as saying there hadn't been anything there. It just wasn't anything she'd been able to give a name to, and Fry was so . . . so . . . _Fry. _He was her closest friend, he was flattering, in a goofy way, and, well, her love life had never been much to boast about. It had been one big lull really, punctuated by a series of embarrassing encounters. She'd been starved of sex and romance, and Fry _was _male, after all. It wasn't so surprising that she'd flirted with the idea on occasion, that she'd had to squash certain . . . impulses. It was understandable. And of course, Fry was a boy, and a friend, and in hindsight, Leela might have allowed the line between _boy friend _and _boyfriend_ to blur a little. She might have flirted. She might have nagged. She might have treated him like a surrogate boyfriend, when dating just seemed too much of a headache to face. But there had always been a line, hadn't there? She had never hesitated to shoot down his romantic aspirations, she had rarely intervened in his relationships . . . Okay, so she'd nagged and comforted and stopped just short of flirting at times, but she had never taken it any further. She'd been lonely and sex-starved and he would have been _more _than willing, but she'd never slept with him. She'd never taken advantage of his feelings for her. It wouldn't have been right. She had been looking for a serious relationship, not to fool around with some kid from the Stupid Ages – and as fond as she was of Fry, there was no denying what he was.

And then Lars had come along. If she could have dreamed herself a man, it would have been Lars. He was the man she'd been searching for her entire life, half-knowing that she'd never find him, that her standards were set too high. He was so perfect he might have been designed for her.

A half-flirtation with a friend didn't stand a chance against a real-life Mr Right.

So why – _why_ – couldn't she pull away from it? She had thought that once she found love, the extras she'd attached to her relationship with Fry would disappear, and he would just be a friend again. But it hadn't quite worked out like that.

Lars shifted uncomfortably.

"Are you okay, Leela? You're awfully quiet."

"Hmm? Oh. Oh, I'm fine. Just replaying the mental image of you punching Zapp Brannigan in the face for me. I wish I'd seen it."

Leela pressed the ice-pack more firmly against his hand and kissed her husband's bruised knuckles. She felt him smile.

"Oh, I don't know. I think you had more effect – you practically scalped the guy! That was some particularly impressive flying, Mrs Filmore."

Leela forced a smile. "It was pretty . . . co-ordinated," she said guardedly.

Fry had kept quiet about his role as navigator, and while it wasn't exactly a secret, it somehow felt like one. It had been between the two of them, a moment of co-ordination so right he might as well have read her mind. It felt private and unnerving, something she was still trying to process. She and Fry had been so perfectly co-ordinated, and then, when it was over, so _un_co-ordinated, falling against each other in sloppy, ill-timed excitement. Being so close to him had left her unbalanced, after two years of distance.

Leela yawned hugely and closed her eye, feigning sleep to fend off further questions. Lars chuckled lightly and stroked her hair.

"Well, I'm just glad to have you back in one piece," he said softly.

Leela thought about Fry, the way her heart had ping-ponged in her chest as she breathed him in, and her face burned.


	5. Chapter 5

"It's over!" Amy wailed, burying her head in her hands.

Leela grimaced. "Honey, I'm sure it's not over. It's just an argument, that's all. It'll blow over."

Amy fixed her with a tearful stare. "You don't understand," she gulped. "Kif and I never argue. He's always been so sweet and accomodating . . ."

_Clank. Clank. _

Bender propped his feet up on the conference table and produced a martini from the depths of his compartment.

"Sweet?" he scoffed, as he swilled lazily. "Accomodating? Sheesh, talk the guy up, why don't you?"

Amy's lip wobbled. "He was perfect," she said defensively. "You wouldn't understand."

"If he was so perfect, why'd he ditch you?"

Leela cleared her throat awkwardly. "Yes, I'm a little confused about that too . . ."

Amy dissolved into sobs again. "You remember Eduardo, right?"

Zoidberg looked up from the cat's cradle of bandages he was trying to extricate from his claws and clicked his pincers excitedly.

"The handsome Venetian? He had abs like a cheesegrater, so he did!"

"That's him," Amy sobbed forlornly. "I don't know why I did it – I love my Kiffy! But he's so . .. ugh!" She wrung her hands in frustration and looked beseechingly at Leela. "We never argued, ever. He's _too perfect_!"

Fry took a drag from one of his ever-present cans of Slurm, and frowned at her. "That's bad?"

Amy wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. "Yeah, because I'm not. I look at guys and think, oh, he's cute, even if I love Kif too much to ever do anything. But Kif only ever sees me. It makes me feel like a slut."

"What's wrong with being a slut?"

Amy ignored this. "And he opens savings accounts and pensions, but I blow all my wages on expensive shoes and lingerie, and then call my parents to pay the rent! And he never gets mad!"

"Uh . . ."

Amy turned away from Fry. "You're married," she implored Leela. "You and Lars must argue about a whole bunch of stuff."

Leela fiddled with the end of her ponytail. "Actually, we never fight," she said uncomfortably.

Amy blew her nose, loudly, and then stared slack-jawed at Leela. "But . . . but . . . how do you do it? How do you keep from going crazy? How do you stop feeling like you're going to mess it all up? It's like a pressure-cooker, I thought my head was going to explode!" Her lip wobbled again as a fresh wave of tears threatened to engulf her. "Kiffy's head used to explode!" she sobbed mournfully, and then she was off again.

Bender gulped back the last of his martini and swung his feet off the table. "Oy vey," he muttered.

Fry patted the Martian's hand awkwardly. "Aw, don't cry, Amy. If you're lonely, Hermes can make you a balloon Kif! He makes the best balloon animals."

Hermes grinned. "It's all in de exhale, mon."

Zoidberg nodded. "Yes!" he cried. "You can stick pins in his head, in the traditional human post-relationship ritual!"

"Dat oughtta relieve de tension."

Amy blew her nose again. "So it's really just me? I just suck at relationships? I can't believe I just asked _Leela_ that. Um. Sorry, Leela. It's just . . . you were a miserable spinster for so long, and now you're even more happily married than Hermes-"

"Hey!" Hermes objected.

"What's your secret? Why am I getting it wrong? Am I too cute? Is it my horoscope?"

Leela narrowed her eye, still offended at the "miserable" comment.

"Must be."

Amy burst into fresh tears and ran, sobbing, from the room.

Bender rolled his eyes. "Way to go, big boots."

Fry finished his Slurm with a sucking sound that set Leela's teeth on edge, and proceeded to crumple up the can and lob it across the room, missing the garbage disposal chute by a good two feet.

"I don't get it," he said, bewildered. "How can you be too perfect?"

"Ah." Zoidberg nodded solemnly. "The female's problem is one of symmetry. If the gonads are not perfectly aligned it increases pressure in the head, and they will explode, so they will!"

The human occupants of the table recoiled, wincing. Bender began to mix himself another martini.

"You gasbags are all a minute away from exploding anyway, venting your waste out of every orifice . . . ugghhh." He shuddered.

Hermes shrugged. "Oh well, back to de office."

Fry popped open another can of Slurm. "Poor Amy," he muttered.

Leela looked down to find herself subconsciously twiddling with her wedding ring.

_Actually, we never fight . . ._

She had the sudden, creeping feeling Fry wasn't the only thing wrong in her marriage.

* * *

><p>"Poor Amy," Lars said absently, checking the consistency of his marinade. "Yeah, a touch more cayenne pepper, I think . . ." At Leela's blank look, he pointed to the spice rack. "Third from the left, please."<p>

Leela passed him the pepper. She hadn't had a frozen dinner since she met Lars.

"You never did tell me how you got to be such a great cook," she said teasingly.

Lars coughed. "Oh, you know," he said quickly. "It was something to do in the evenings. The lonely life of a bachelor and all that. Unless you'd rather cook? I'm not getting under your feet here, am I?"

He flashed her a worried smile.

Leela blinked. "No, of course not."

"Good." Lars drew a hand across his brow in exaggerated relief, making her smile. "So," he said. "Have you given it any thought? My suggestion from the other day, I mean."

"I . . . oh, I . . ."

At her expression, he backtracked. "That's okay. You know what, you've hardly had time to catch your breath, of course you haven't had time to think it over. Forget I said anything."

Leela nodded. "I have been busy," she said uneasily. "Amy isn't exactly pulling her weight at work, and I don't really know what to say to her . . ."

Lars flicked on the food processor. "That must be tough. It sounds like this break-up hit her really hard."

Leela hesitated. "She thinks Kif was too perfect. What do you think?"

Lars frowned. "Too perfect? How can the guy be too perfect?"

Leela toyed with a skewer. "Oh, you know . . . she says they never fought."

"That doesn't sound like much of a reason for splitting up. Sounds like they were on to a good thing."

Lars smiled at her. Leela smiled weakly back.

"We never fight," she said carefully.

Lars's gaze flickered towards her immediately.

"Leela," he said. "I waited my whole life for you. I'd have to be crazy to mess it up." He squeezed her hand, a little more tightly than was comfortable. "There's nothing more important to me than making you happy, whatever that takes."

He licked the spoon, and then passed it to her.

"Mrs Filmore, I do believe dinner is served."


	6. Chapter 6

By Monday, Amy was more miserable than ever. The crew returned from a delivery to hear raised voices in the employee lounge, and they hung back nervously at the door, careful not to set off the sensors. Even so, the conversation was pretty hard to miss.

"I loved you. Didn't that mean anything to you?"

"Please, Kiffy, I'm so sorry . .. I don't know what happened! Just give me a chance to make it right!"

Kif sniffed. His voice wobbled. "I'm sorry, Amy. I can't. The trust is gone."

He backed out of the room so quickly he ran into the crew. He hurried past them, avoiding their eyes.

When he had gone the crew huddled around Amy, who was sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the black tv screen.

Leela cleared her throat awkwardly. "I'm so sorry, Amy." She paused. "Do you want some ice-cream? A few tubs of ice-cream can really help."

Amy sniffed. "Can you fry them in butter?"

"Uh . . . sure, honey."

Fry, who had been watching Amy in silence, stood up suddenly.

"I know something _better_ than butter," he said. "C'mon everyone. We're cheering Amy up!"

Amy's lip wobbled uncertainly. "I dunno . . ."

Fry squeezed her shoulder. "Trust me. This is exactly where you want to be right now."

* * *

><p>It turned out that where Amy wanted to be was O'Zorgnax's bar.<p>

Leela hadn't been there since . . . since she got married, actually. The bar was kind of a dive.

It hadn't changed much.

They had found a table at the back easily enough, and were now downing tequila at an unholy rate. Leela had a backlog of six shots lined up in front of her, which she wasn't too keen on touching. They looked a little scummy. But in truth, she was too distracted anyway.

Bender, as usual, swallowed shots like a vending machine swallows coins, but Fry and Amy were matching him shot for shot.

Amy burped, and somehow even managed to make that sound cute.

"I drink I'm lunk, Fry . . ."

Fry waved a hand dismissively. "Nah . . . more tequila!"

Leela frowned. "I think she's had enough."

Fry opened his mouth to argue, and then seemed to think better of it. "Fine. You're the boss! Let's dance!"

"Ooops!" Amy giggled as he swept her off her feet and promptly fell over with her. He struggled upwards a moment later and tugged her in the direction of the dancefloor, which wasn't really used as such for anything but karaoke nights.

The barman delivered another round of drinks while Leela was still staring. Now she switched her stare to him.

"We didn't order-"

"Thanks!" Fry yelled from the other side of the bar, and she fell silent, fuming. This was _ridiculous. _

The barman tucked the tray under his arm and fixed his gaze on Bender.

"Watch your friend," he snapped. "He goes to sleep on my pool table again and he's out, got it? The drool messes up my baize."

Bender shrugged. "Hey, I'm not his keeper."

"Yeah, well, he sure as hell ain't my problem, buddy. I got no problem tossing him in an alley."

"Hey, hey," Leela interrupted. "Calm down, guys. Bender, stop being so childish and keep an eye on Fry. _Someone _has to, for god's sake." Bender subsided into a grumpy muttering that was neither yes nor no, and Leela turned to the barman. She gestured towards Fry. "He's an idiot, but he's harmless, really. I don't know what's gotten into him tonight. We'll put a cap on it."

The barman snorted. "Lady, he don't know how to put a cap on it and I'm sick of stitching him up." He softened a little at her expression. "He's a nice enough kid but I ain't no babysitter."

Leela frowned. "He gets like this a lot?"

"The whole damn time. Hung up on some broad, probably - they all are. I'd keep your girlfriend away, if I was you."

They were interrupted by the sound of Amy vomiting spectacularly all over the floor.

At least it had sobered her up, Leela thought later, watching her as they sat sipping virgin Bloody Marys at their table again. The only problem was that sobriety had brought back her weepiness.

"I'll never have a love like that again! We were like Jack and Rose, like, like . . ." At this point she burst into tears again.

Fry, meanwhile, had fallen asleep with his cheek pressed against the table. He was snoring like a child.

Leela took a large gulp of her drink and kicked him under the table. He jerked awake immediately.

"Bender . . ." he groaned. "No fair . . ."

"Not me, buddy."

Fry rubbed his eyes blearily. "Yeah, right," he murmured.

"I'll never love again," Amy hiccupped beside him. "I know it! I'll be . .. undateable. Am I undateable? I am, aren't I? I'm undateable!"

Fry gave her a clumsy, one-armed hug. "You're not undateable. I'd date you like a . . . like a . . . zap-zap . . . bang-bang . . . thing . . ."

Amy smiled tremulously. "Like a shot?"

"Yeah, tha's it. Like a shot." He patted the table comfortingly, a few inches away from her hand, and began to fall forwards again.

"That's it," Leela huffed. "He's going home, _right this minute. _Come on, Fry."

She hauled him up with the help of Amy, who had quailed under her glare but was still defiantly sobbing into Fry's shoulder. Bender pulled Leela's tray of untouched drinks towards him.

"See ya, meatbags!"


	7. Chapter 7

The journey back from O'Zorgnax's tested Leela's patience severely. Amy kept up a steady stream of tears, pausing only to blow her nose occasionally on Fry's jacket, and Fry leaned on her like a dead weight – a dead weight prone to throwing up without warning. By the time they dropped Amy off Leela was sweating and scowling.

She pushed Fry through the door of his apartment and then hesitated, her gaze flickering briefly towards his bedroom. After a moment she pushed him down onto the couch instead. Fry didn't seem to want to go. He nuzzled blearily into her neck, and her stomach flipped.

Leela's response was immediate and unthinking. She pushed him away so hard his head bounced off the armrest.

"Ow . . ." he mumbled.

"Sorry."

"'S okay." Fry blinked, coming back to a muzzy sort of awareness. "Leela? Am I dreaming?"

"No."

"Oh."

"Sleep it off. We'll talk about this in the morning."

Fry yawned, and groped about lazily on the couch. "My ice-cream melted," he said fuzzily.

"Yes, it did," Leela said wearily. "Now go to sleep, before I _send _you to sleep."

She flexed her wrist threateningly, and Fry grinned.

"Leela?"

"Uh-huh?"

"I miss you . . ."

Leela swallowed.

"I miss you too," she whispered.

Fry smiled sleepily. After a moment he started to snore.

_I miss you too. _

Leela watched him sleep, suddenly sick with the force of it.

* * *

><p><strong>TWO YEARS AGO ;;;<strong>

It turned out Elzar's appetizers weren't so fresh after all, and half the reception party had been unable to keep them down. This was especially nasty in the case of Hermes, who had started projectile-vomiting in the middle of the Limbo contest, and effectively put paid to the party. Although apparently Taco Bellvue Hospital planned to put his head back on the right way round when they'd finished pumping his stomach, so it seemed there was a silver lining to every cloud.

Fry was white-faced and heaving when Leela found him. He slumped against a crate of gummy antidepressants, shivering as he swilled his mouth out with water.

"This is the worst day of my life," he mumbled. "How come you're not sick?" he added accusingly.

Leela glared at him. "I was too excited to eat. But Lars is in pretty bad shape."

"Hooray."

"Oh, that's very mature."

Fry scowled. "I don't care."

Leela folded her arms. "You know," she said peevishly, "Lars never has anything but nice things to say about _you."_

Fry waved his arms in mock celebration. "Whoohoo, Mr Big Man _Lars_!"

"For god's sake, Fry, just give it up! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What the – what's wrong with – what's wrong with _me_?" Fry spluttered. "What's wrong with you? How can you marry that guy? You know he'll just turn out to be another phoney like Adlai, or, ooh, Alcazar! And I'm _right here_, I love you, and you won't even give me a chance! And you _know_ there's something there! How is that fair?"

Leela chewed the inside of her cheek, furious. "Well, maybe it's _not_ fair."

"No kidding."

"But you know what? Lars is a good guy. He's not like every other jerk I've dated, you just want him to be. You actually want him to break my heart!" Leela glared. "If you really loved me so much, you'd want me to be happy."

"I do! I just want you to be happy with _me! _You and me, we're meant to, to . . ."

"To _what, _Fry?"

"Well . . . I dunno. But it doesn't involve Lars! He's not right! I know you think I'm stupid, but he's not right for you, I know it!"

Leela stood up sharply. "That shows how much you know, because you're _wrong_. Lars is right for me. I love him, and it doesn't get any more right than that."

* * *

><p>Bender didn't return to the Robot Arms until the next morning, and he didn't look too pleased to see Leela when he did.<p>

"Aw, crud. What do you want?"

Leela narrowed her eye. "To get to the bottom of this," she snapped, jabbing her thumb at the sleeping figure of Fry, still sprawled on the couch.

Bender pulled a can of Lo-Brau from the fridge, avoiding her eye.

"So he got a little drunk, big whoop. Fry's a big boy, he can take of himself."

"Hiii-yah!" Leela knocked the can out of his hand with a sudden spinning kick and fell back on her feet, panting. "Don't give me that bull," she said furiously. "Fry's an idiot. You know it, I know it. And you're letting him do this to himself? Shame on you, Bender!"

"Hey, watch who you're talking to, princess. Fry's my buddy. I got him that new liver, didn't I? Helped myself to some other stuff too, but hey, that's perks for you . . ."

"Bender!"

"Aw, relax. He had spares."

Leela shook her head. "I don't even want to know. My point is, you've been letting him do this? You didn't even _try_ to stop him?"

"What do I look like, Mother Theresa?"

"You're supposed to be his friend!"

Bender put down his drink. "Yeah?" he said abruptly. "Well, so were you, eyeball."

At Leela's gray expression, he laughed.

"Yeah, yeah, I figured we'd get to that. Not so self-righteous now, are you?"

Leela swallowed. "It's complicated."

"I'll bet."

Bender watched her in silence for a long time, and then picked up his beer again.

"All this feelings garbage is human stuff," he continued. "Not my perogative. Don't expect Bender to clean up after you, because I ain't no shrink, baby."

He turned to Fry and upped the volume.

"HEY, BUDDY! GEDDUP! _C'MONNNNNNN_!"

Fry started awake and slipped off the couch immediately, hitting his head on the coffee table. He came up groaning and clutching his head.

"Oww . . ."

"Hey, buddy."

"Hey, Bender," Fry said groggily. "Hey . . . oh. Leela?"

"Hi, Fry."

"Uh-oh. Am I fired?"

"No."

"Is someone sick?"

Leela sighed. "You should be, if there's any justice in the world."

Fry shrugged. "Oh, _that_. Nah, I'll be fine."

He reached past her and helped himself to a bowl of Bachelor Chow.

"Just gotta line my stomach," he said casually, "and I can barf my way through the rest of the hangover just fine. Smart, huh?"

He winked at her. Leela rolled her eye.

"No," she said sharply. "It's moronic."

"Oh." Fry deflated a little. He chewed thoughtfully. "Uhh . . . I don't mean to be rude or anything, but what gives? I'm kinda getting the impression I'm in trouble here."

Leela sighed. "Bender, could you give us a minute?"

"Take ten, dollface."

"I meant _alone."_

"_Oh, _right. Sure thing."

Bender backed away and Fry and Leela were left standing awkwardly in the kitchen.

"Sooooo." Leela stretched the word as far as it could go in an effort to fill the awkward silence.

Fry simply blinked at her. "You're gonna have to give me a hint here."

Leela groaned. "Fry, you really are an idiot sometimes."

She crossed to the couch and sank into the warm furrow Fry had left behind. She opened her mouth, fully intending to tear him a new one for being so unthinkingly, aberrently _stupid. _

Unfortunately, her traitorous mouth had other ideas.

"I miss you," it said instead.

Fry froze, almost comically, with a spoonful of Bachelor Chow midway to his mouth.

"I didn't go anywhere," he said uncertainly.

"That's not what I mean."

Fry put down his spoon. "Yeah, I know . . ." He rubbed his neck awkwardly. "I miss you too, Leela. I nearly tell you that all the time."

"You told me last night."

"Oh. Hey . . . are you crying?"

Leela sniffed quickly. "No! I . . I inherited a whole pile of allergies from my dad. And Lord knows this place is probably less hygenic than the s-sewer . . ."

"Don't cry, Leela . . . oof!"

Fry joined her on the couch and put an unsteady arm around her shoulder. Leela threw herself into his embrace so suddenly she almost knocked him over.

"Can we . . . could we . . . start over?" she mumbled.

"As friends?"

"Yeah."

"Just start over?"

"Yeah."

"I dunno." Fry swallowed. "It might be kind of weird. I mean, I'm . . . you know. I love you. And you're with Lars." He looked down at her, tortured. "I want you to be happy, Leela. I want that more than anything. It's just that it's kinda hard to see every day." He paused.

"But you're not happy now," he said slowly.

There was another long silence.

"It'd make you happy?" he asked nervously.

Leela sniffed. "I just want things to go back to the way they were. I don't _want _it to be weird anymore. I don't know how to deal with weird."

Fry shifted uncomfortably.

"I guess I didn't think it mattered so much," he said at last. "I mean, I guess I thought that if you were happy with Lars, it'd be enough."

Leela blew her nose noisily. "I guess I thought so too."

"But you need _me _to be happy?" Fry struggled to keep the incredulity out of his voice, and for once Leela didn't blame him.

"I guess so," she said ruefully.

There was a long, long pause. It looked like Fry was thinking, and for once Leela couldn't read him at all. At last he nodded.

"I'll do it."

"You will?" Leela wiped her eye and attempted to pull herself together. "Well . . . thank you," she said uneasily. "I mean, I know I don't really have the right to ask . . . but this isn't right, Fry, and I want to fix it. There has to be a way for you to be happy too. There must be."

Fry shrugged. "Maybe. But if being your friend makes you happy, I'll do it."

He smiled.

"I'd do anything for you."


	8. Chapter 8

**A / n : Woo, reviews! Thank you so much, guys! **

**Darknight Squire – As Bender would say : Dooooooomed! And he is gonna come clean about being Fry in the end, but only when he has to. Remember as far as he's concerned, Leela could never love Fry, no matter what he did. Twelve years extra maturity might have meant as little to her as everything else he did, if she'd known it was Fry that had done it. Also, he wasn't expecting that Fry would turn up again at his memorial. Telling her he is Fry if Fry is still around is confusing to her and cruel to his old self, so he'd rather let it be.**

* * *

><p>"So, Leela, did you patch things up with Fry yet?"<p>

"Dad!" Leela cried.

One of her mother's tentacles disappeared under the table, and her father winced.

"Don't you pay any attention to your father, Leela," Munda said sharply. "He doesn't mean anything by it, do you, Morris?"

Morris shifted uncomfortably, shedding skinflakes. He brushed them off the tablecloth and smiled hesistantly at his wife and daughter.

"What would I mean?" he asked, bewildered. "He just seemed like such a nice boy. You never talk about him anymore."

Leela blushed. "Dad, I'm married now. I have more important things to talk about than Fry."

She squeezed Lars's hand across the table. Munda shot him an apologetic glance.

"I'm sorry about this, Lars," she said. "Morris is going to stop talking about Fry now, _aren't you, Morris?"_

Morris nodded timidly. "Yes, dear. But I was only going to say -"

"_Now, Morris!"_

"Yes, dear."

Lars cleared his throat. "I really don't mind."

Munda smiled. "You're very sweet," she said, in a tone that nonetheless suggested this particular avenue of the conversation was now closed. "More toilet clams, anyone?"

"No thanks, Mom. Actually, I have to pay a visit to the little girl's room."

Leela excused herself and wandered aimlessly through her parents' rundown shack. She inhaled the smell of her mother's pillow and her father's discarded sweater. It was something she did every visit, as a sort of reassurance. Some childish part of her always seemed to need a minute alone to drink her parents in, to revel in the fact that they were _real. _She ran her fingers over the yellowed newspaper cuttings tacked up in the hall, and smiled at the memories. There she was at graduation . . . with her first martial arts award . . . drunk at Space Mardi Gras with Fry and Bender . . . smiling on her wedding day . . .

"Hey, honey."

Leela spun round.

"Lars! You scared me. What is it? Was I gone too long? Is dinner getting cold?"

"No, no," Lars assured her. "I just thought I'd come see how you were doing. I mean, I figured you weren't on the can or anything. Obviously. Uh, you know what I mean. I'm just gonna quit while I'm ahead here . . ."

Leela laughed. "I know what you meant."

There was silence as they stood and looked at the wall.

"I never knew your parents liked Fry so much," Lars said awkwardly. "I guess they were kinda hoping he'd get his act together and win you over, huh?"

Leela reddened. "Maybe. He did stop me shooting them once." She smiled at the memory. "But they were probably just used to him. I mean, he's in most of these pictures. And half this junk probably came from Fry. He's the biggest slob I ever knew."

"I bet," Lars said absently. He picked up a page of sheet music and smoothed one of the corners with a far away expression. His forehead wrinkled. "He threw out your opera? I thought – I mean, it seems like the kind of thing he'd keep."

Leela pulled it from his fingers and hastily put it back on the shelf.

"It's nothing," she said quickly. She didn't want to think about the opera. Or the holophonor, or anything else Fry had done to make her think that maybe it – him, _them - _wouldn't be such a disaster. "It's better that he threw it out." She tugged Lars away, careful not to look back. "We'd better get back. Mom's making soapcakes."

Lars watched her in confusion for a moment, and then seemed to disregard whatever was bothering him. He squeezed her hand.

"Mmm. Can't miss those!"

* * *

><p><strong>TWO YEARS AGO ;;;<strong>

"Leela! Are you okay?"

Fry's words entered the room before he did. Leela looked up just in time to get out of the way as his sneakers skidded on the hospital floor and he flew headlong over the threshold. After a moment he untangled himself from the cubicle curtains, panting.

Leela stared at him.

"Fry? What - what are you doing here?"

Fry shrugged. "Oh, I heard Lars was in hospital and I thought hey, can't miss that . . . I'm joking, I'm joking!" he protested, as Leela glared at him. Then he grew serious. "I heard Lars was in hospital," he said quietly. "I heard he saved your life."

Leela sniffed. "He did."

"Is he going to make it?"

Leela swallowed hard. _Don't cry. Don't cry. _

"We don't know," she whispered. "Why are you here, Fry? To try and unplug a couple of machines?"

"What? No!" Fry rocked awkwardly on his heels, avoiding her eye. "I came to see if there was anything I could do. You know, to help. I even gave blood, see?" He held up an arm, rolling up his sleeve to show off an Incredible Hulk band-aid. "They gave me a cookie. Did you know me and Lars have the same blood type?"

"Huh? Oh . . . no. I didn't know that." Leela shook her head to clear it and reached across the bed for Lars's hand. It was limp and unresponsive. She dragged her thoughts back to Fry. "I don't understand. Why would you do that?"

"Because. Because . . . I got to thinking, and maybe me and Lars aren't so different after all. I'm not saying you should have chosen me!" he cried, holding up his hands as Leela turned to stare at him in disgust. "I meant that . . . if some creepy nudist went nuts and tried to shoot you, I'd do what Lars did. I don't know why Nudar thought Lars had the code, but it sounds like he was crazy anyway, and Lars did the right thing. He saved your life, and he makes you happy. He's a good guy and I finally figured it out, Leela . . ."

He swallowed.

"You were right. It's not about what makes me happy. It's about what makes you happy."


	9. Chapter 9

Leela sighed happily and turned over in the sun.

It was turning out to be the hottest day of the summer and the Planet Express crew had flown to Monument Beach for the afternoon. Leela was sunbathing, glad of the opportunity to relax. She took a sip of her cocktail and cranked open her eye.

"Amy, pass the sunscreen."

"In a minute, okay? I can't reach my back . . ."

Leela watched the Martian girl writhe and twist elegantly, trying to reach her back and swearing under her breath. She succeeding in splattering a blob of the stuff onto her shoulder blade, but struggled to rub it in.

"Hey, Fry, could you help me out?"

Fry opened one lazy eye. "Aw, do I have to?"

Catching sight of Amy's answering pout, he sighed. "Can't you just use my arm? Here."

He flopped an arm over the edge of his sun-lounger and closed his eyes again.

Amy shrugged. "Sure."

Leela raised her chin and looked away pointedly. She was fond of Amy, but there were times when her flirting really set Leela's teeth on edge. Like _now, _for instance.

Amy giggled. "Fry!"

"Oh, Amy, I think I see Kif!"

The words were out of her mouth before Leela could stop them. Amy squeaked and dropped the bottle, yanking Fry's hand away from her chest.

"Where?"

Fry opened his eyes. "Huh?"

Leela coughed. "Oh, I guess not."

"Oh." Amy sat back down, looking crestfallen.

There was silence for a moment as they watched Hermes pick his way along the beach, issuing permits to small children building sandcastles, while Bender picked their fathers' pockets.

"Maybe you should try dating somebody else," Fry said. "Show Kif what he's missing out on, y'know?"

"Maybe." Amy brightened up. "Hey, Fry, you could be my fake boyfriend! That's a great idea!"

"No!"

Leela groaned. She just couldn't seem to stop her mouth these days, could she?

"I mean, it's not a good idea," she said quickly. "Fry would be bound to stuff that up, Amy."

Fry cracked open a can of Slurm. "I sure would. But if you ever need a fake hook-up, I'm _so_ there."

He winked.

Leela scowled. "I think there's a spare sunscreen in the ship," she muttered. "Excuse me."

Back on board the ship, Leela located the sunscreen. She collapsed in the captain's chair and thought for a moment before picking up the phone and calling Lars. It rang for a long time before the ceiling of the Head Museum fizzled into view. The screen swung down a minute later and she saw Lars smiling at her, looking a little worried.

"Leela? Are you alright? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Why, are you busy?"

Lars groaned. "Flat out." He swung the screen around again to give her a view of the Head Museum, the inhabitants of which were bubbling in their jars and complaining loudly. "Everybody, please, calm down! I'll get you all cooled down, I promise, just be patient . . ." He turned back to Leela. "How's your day?"

"Oh, you know." Leela wriggled uncomfortably in her chair, suddenly feeling guilty. "We're slacking off for the afternoon. Monument Beach. It's nice."

"Oh, right." Lars nodded distractedly. "You'll be home for dinner, right?"

"I guess."

Someone out of sight began shouting for Lars. He grimaced. "I'm sorry, honey, I have to go. I'll see you at six, okay?"

"Sure."

"I love you, honey!"

"I love you t-"

But the connection had already blacked out. Leela sighed.

"I guess Lars doesn't slack off much, huh?"

There was a familiar popping sound behind her. Fry was leaning against the doorway, Slurm fizzing up out of a freshly-opened can.

Leela straightened up. "No, he doesn't," she said sharply. "He doesn't eavesdrop either."

Fry shrugged. "I wasn't eavesdropping. I just came up to see if you were okay."

"Well, I am."

"Okay."

"Okay then."

"Well . . . I'll be on the roof if you're . . . not okay."

Fry left.

Leela groaned. She rubbed in a little more sunscreen. She drummed her fingers on the armrest. Then she gave up, and followed Fry up to the roof.

He was stretched out against the hot metal with his sunglasses on. He raised them and squinted at her as she approached, but he didn't say anything. Leela sat down cross-legged beside him. When she reached for his can of Slurm, Fry gave it up without a word. The aluminium was still warm from his mouth.

"Supposing I wasn't okay," Leela murmured. "Why would that be?"

Fry shrugged. "I dunno. But come on, Leela . . . it's Monument Beach. We're slacking off! And you're not having fun."

Leela lay down, letting the hot metal heat her bones.

"Fry . . ."

"What?"

"I . .. Can I finish this?" She rattled the can of Slurm.

"Sure."

Leela sipped her Slurm, watching Fry slide into a more slumped position on the ship's prow. After a while he started to snore, and Leela felt her own eye drift closed. Something brushed against her arm and there was a faint chittering. It sounded like Nibbler. Hadn't she left him down on the beach? She reached out for him blearily. Her hand closed on something warm, and she fell asleep.

* * *

><p>The evening had turned cool by the time she awoke. The ship's metal casing felt cold against her cheek and there were goosebumps rising on every inch of exposed flesh, causing her to bitterly regret her choice of bikini. Only her right arm felt warm and comfortably placed – which turned out to be because it was lying across Fry's stomach. Her fingers were curled into his side, as though at some point the ship had capsized and she'd decided to hold on for dear life. Leela stared at her fingers for a moment in blank incomprehension, and then slowly loosened her hold.<p>

"Nibbler?"

Silence.

She shook Fry by the shoulder. "Fry, get up."

Fry snorted and jerked awake. "Bender has my power of attorney!" he blurted out.

"That's good to know. But we overslep – oh my god. I'm late for dinner with Lars!"

Leela leapt to her feet and stared at the horizon in a panic. The sun was going down and at this stage of the summer, there could be no doubt – it was much, much later than six. Had Lars tried to call her? Her wrist was bare, and there was no way to know.

"Where's my communicator?"

Fry rubbed his eyes. "Maybe Bender stole it?" At Leela's frantic expression, he seemed to wake up a little. He stood up, kneading his neck. "Let's ask him."

* * *

><p>They found the others asleep around the smouldering remains of a barbecue. Their condition made a little more sense when Leela sifted through the coals and unearthed one of Hermes's special cigars.<p>

"Great," she muttered. "They were all stoned. And you just slept because you can sleep anywhere, anytime, let's face it -"

Fry grinned proudly. "Thanks."

"- but what am I supposed to say? I'm sorry, honey, I'm late because I'm a lazy slob?"

"Works for me."

"It's not funny, Fry. What am I supposed to tell Lars?"

Fry pulled the remnants of a cold, blackened hot dog from Hermes's hand and chewed it thoughtfully.

"You could just blame Zoidberg," he suggested.

* * *

><p>"So really, it was all Doctor Zoidberg's fault," Leela finished.<p>

Lars nodded. "I understand."

"You do?"

"Of course." He tipped some Torgo's Executive Powder into the fish tank and sat down on the edge of the bed. He frowned.

"Maybe I'm out of line here, but I don't know why you stay there. I mean, everyone else at the company sounds so incompetent . . . I always figured you wanted more from life."

"They're not so bad. Besides, I'm not really thinking of making any big career moves."

Leela realized, to her horror, that she was bluffing. But what could she say? That she liked slacking off with the crew and risking her life every few weeks on some crackpot whim of the Professor's? That sounded insane, even to her.

Lars, however, had started to smile for the first time that evening.

"Why not?" he said wryly. "Have you got bigger plans on the horizon?"

Leela frowned. "I could use a holiday, I suppose," she said dolefully.

And then his meaning hit her.

"You mean a _baby?" _

"Why not?" Lars smiled. "I know you'd like to adopt," he said hastily, "and I would too, but Leela . . . I'd really love one of our own. I want to look down at our baby and see a little bit of you staring back, just once. And I know how long you've wanted to be a mother . . . What better time will there be?"

"Uh . .. none, I guess . . ."

"I know it's a big step, but I won't let you down, Leela. I'm in this for the long haul. You must know that by now."

"I . . . I don't know what to say," Leela floundered.

_No! _A small voice was screaming inside her. _No!_

Lars laughed worriedly. "Yes?" he suggested.

"Yes?"

"Yes? It's a yes?"

"I . . . y-esss?"

"Yes!" Lars punched the air. "You won't regret this!"

He pulled her into an embrace and kissed her. Leela closed her eye and kissed him in return, pushing him back onto the bed. This was what she wanted, wasn't it? It was crazy to think she wasn't ready for this. She wasn't _Fry, _for goodness sakes.

So she kissed Lars back and pulled off his shirt, trying to ignore the confusion that fizzled up inside her and rose to her mouth, leaving an aftertaste of warm aluminium.


	10. Chapter 10

"Mom, can I axe you something?"

"Would you look at these skinflakes . . ." Munda paused in her dusting. "Oh, sure, honey. Anything you like."

Morris lowered his book, _Motes From The Underground. _

"It's not a loan, is it?" he asked nervously.

"No!" Leela assured him.

"Phew!"

Munda sighed. "Morris, would you excuse us for a minute, please?"

When Morris had shuffled out, she sat down beside Leela and wrapped one of her tentacles around her daughter's hand.

"There, now. What's eating you, sugar?"

Leela sighed, wrestling with herself. She couldn't, could she? She couldn't tell her mom this, it was _insane. _

"Mom . . . how did you know you'd got it right? You know, with Dad?"

"Oh, you mean when we married?"

"Well . . . yeah. I mean, obviously he wasn't like all the other crummy losers out there, but how did you know he was The One?"

Munda snorted. "Not like all the other crummy losers out there? Sweetie, I hate to disappoint you, but your father was the biggest loser in this entire sewer."

"I . . . what?"

"Sure he was, honey. Oh, my, it seemed like your father was always getting crapped on by somebody." She patted Leela's hand. "He worked in the pipes in those days. _Literally_ shoving shit."

Leela smiled fondly. "But you believed in him."

"Oh, no! I was miles above Morris. I was in college, I was so determined to make something of myself . . ."

Leela swallowed. "What happened?"

"Huh? Oh . . ." Munda blinked her tears away. "We had you, of course! Sweetie, we would have lived in the _sub-_sewer to stay close to you. And don't you dare think I regret it!"

"But . . . I don't understand. How did you and Dad end up together?" Leela asked, bewildered. "Oh, lord. Was I an accident? Some kind of one-night-stand baby?"

"Don't be silly, honey. We never have to worry about that down here. You wouldn't _believe_ how many women flush perfectly good birth control down the toilet. Really, you'd be amazed."

Leela reddened. She had done the same thing that very morning, blissfully unaware of the fact that she was preventing teen pregnancy in the mutant community as she did so.

"Uh . .. that's good to know, I suppose. But . . you and Dad?"

"Oh, right! Well, we never thought much of it. Morris was crazy about me, and people kept telling me to give him a shot, but you know .. . . it was so _conventional. _He had one eye, I had one eye . . . what, we were supposed to be together because we had the same mutation? Pur-lease . . ."

"But there must have been more to it than that?"

Munda paused in her reminisces and looked at her daughter sidelong.

"That's just what your father used to say," she said softly. "The way he used to talk . . . like we were special somehow. Oh, lord, he never gave up. I'd get out of school and there he'd be, waiting. He used to bring me things, you know. Books and jewellery and all kinds of fancy things he'd picked up at work . . . it must've taken him hours to fix them up, and he could have sold them for more than he earned in a day, but he used to give them to me. He said I deserved beautiful things, because _I_ was beautiful. He was lying, of course, but it was a beautiful lie . . ."

"Mom . . ." Leela swallowed past the lump in her throat. "You are beautiful."

Munda laughed. "I guess you got that from your father. Leela, sweetie, I've got tentacles. I know what I am, and if anyone else had tried to tell me something like that, I'd have sucker-punched him right in the jaw! But your father . . . he said it the way you did just now. He said it because he saw it, and it's hard to ignore someone like that. He sorta sucked me in."

"I know that feeling," Leela muttered.

"But after that, I knew."

"Knew what?"

Munda touched her cheek. "I knew that he was right," she said softly. "We were meant to be, meant to do something important. And we did, baby girl. We did something so much bigger than either of us. We made you."

Leela hugged her, overcome with emotion. Moments like this one paid for every minute she'd spent in the orphanarium.

She sniffed.

"But you did end up spending your whole life in a shack in the sewer," she pointed out.

Munda patted her on the back.

"That's true. That's what you get for listening to your heart instead of getting a real job. I always did think I should've rode Morris harder . . . Tch. Is it so much to ask not to shed your skin on the carpet? Honestly, _men_ . . . "

Munda began dusting again with one arm, so Leela reluctantly let her go.

"Why did you ask, anyway?" her mother inquired. "I hope things aren't going badly between you and Lars?"

Leela hesitated, allowing herself to picture, just for a moment, the disappointment on her mother's face if she admitted she was screwing up. _Well, Mom, _she imagined herself saying, _I love Lars, but I think I just agreed to have a baby to keep him happy. I'm bored and there's something really wrong with me, because as crazy as it sounds, I can't stop thinking about Fry. I mean, FRY. I have everything I thought I wanted, and I'm screwing it all up! _

She forced a smile.

"No, Mom. Everything's going just . . . great."

* * *

><p>"So . . . Lars wants us to have a baby."<p>

"Schmeepers!"

Amy knocked over her pot of nail polish, staining the coffee table yellow.

"I mean . .. that's great, Leela! Uh . . . when?"

Leela blushed. "Oh, I don't know. We've just started trying, I'm sure it won't happen right away."

She hoped not, anyway.

Amy sighed. "Well, that's a relief. I can't imagine this place without you."

"Me either," Leela said glumly.

Amy looked sidelong at her. "So, have you told . . . everyone?"

Leela narrowed her eye. She didn't like the sound of that pause.

"No. Just you, actually." She frowned. "I don't know why. I just wanted to tell . . ."

"A girl." When Leela's eye widened, Amy laughed. "Oh, come on," she said teasingly, "it wasn't that hard to figure out. I was the same when Kif got pregnant. I was so freaked out. Although I guess you've already done this. Maybe."

It took Leela a moment to realise Amy was talking about the children Kif had had, which were biologically Leela's. Still, Leela hadn't knowingly donated the DNA, and as Amy was the one whose love had inspired the pregnancy, Kif considered her the children's real mother – his smismar. Leela had felt detatched from the whole process. She thought of herself as something like an egg donor or a surrogate – she'd helped Amy and Kif to have their children, and she was glad of it, but they were by no means hers.

"No,"she told Amy. "I've never really thought of them as mine. They were always your babies, Amy."

Amy teared up abruptly, and Leela realized, too late, that the whole area of Kif and their children was bound to be an emotional minefield for her.

"I'm sorry, I never meant to-"

Amy waved her into silence, but gratefully seized the Kleenex Leela offered her.

"It's okay," she gulped, when she'd recovered. "I'm just so confused right now. I miss Kif so much and I feel so guilty, but I think I'm mad at him too. And that just makes me feel worse! And I don't know why!"

"Maybe it's because he doesn't deserve it," Leela muttered. "And it would be a lot fairer if he did."

Amy's mouth dropped open. "How did you know?"

Leela shook herself, and shut her mouth before it could run her into any more trouble. It seemed about as trustworthy as Zapp Brannigan lately.

"Uh . . . I read it in a magazine," she said quickly. _"Pop Pyschology Monthly."_

Thankfully she was spared further girl-talk by the arrival of Fry and Bender. Fry nudged Amy to one side and settled effortlessly into the groove his body had, over the past ten years, formed in the couch. Bender reached into his chest compartment and withdrew a squirming and highly affronted looking Nibbler. He tossed him at Leela.

"Yo, big boots, this is yours. Found it down the back of the couch."

"Nibbler!" Leela cried. "What on earth . . .?"

Nibbler scrabbled upwards and ducked under her arm, chittering.

"Aww." She scooped him up and tickled him. "What's wrong, pooperdoodle?"

Nibbler swatted her hand away. "Everything!" he declared. "The universe itself is in grave danger!"

Leela blinked. "It is?"

"Yes!"

Bender rolled his optics. "From what, stinkrat?"

"I . . . while it is true I have not yet ascertained the source of the danger . . ."

"You don't know," Leela said flatly.

"Well . . . no."

"Aw!" Amy reached out to pat Nibbler on the head. "I think Nibbler's been overdoing it, Leela. You're so tense, aren't you, little guy? Cootchie-cootchie-coo . . . Hey, you should try him on Xanax. That always worked on my ponies."

"Enough! Unhand me this minute!"

Nibbler wriggled away from the women and landed heavily on Fry's stomach.

"Oof – hey – what gives?"

Nibbler clawed his way up the delivery boy's t-shirt and took cover underneath his jacket.

"I apologize," he declared, his voice slightly muffled. "But something is wrong. Something of vital, nay, _paramount _importance! I am Nibblonian! We know these things!"

Leela made to give him a reassuring pat, but relented when he cringed away from her. She sighed.

"Alright. What is it, Nibbler? What's wrong?"

"I told you. I don't know. But wheels have been set in motion! Something is amiss in the universe! Even now it strives to right itself!"

"Uh-huh . . ."

Nibbler glared at her. "There is a disturbance in the universe," he said coldly. "Something is which _should not be!"_

"Like Malfunctioning Eddie's low, low prices?"

"No," Nibbler said wearily. He looked sidelong at Fry. "But think, Fry. Has anything . . . _unusual _. . . happened to you recently?"

Fry started. "Me? Wha – no! I didn't screw up the universe! I mean, not more than I already did. I didn't sleep with my grandma or find another time-code on my ass or anything. I swear! I swear on Slurm!"

Leela sighed. "Nibbler," she said. "No-one here is suggesting Fry doesn't have a habit of screwing up the universe. But things do seem pretty normal. Are you sure you're not just overreacting?"

"I . . ." Nibbler stared at her, twitching a little. "You do not understand. We Nibblonians have watched over your universe since its infancy. We possess senses more refined than you could possibly imagine! And something is amiss, I sense it! I sense the great harm it will do!"

He vaulted off Fry's stomach and fled the room, chittering in agitation.

Amy shrugged.

"That was weird," Fry said blankly.

"Tell me about it," Leela muttered.

Amy blew on her nails to dry them, and then squealed.

"Oh, you guys! You'll never guess what Leela's – ow!"

Leela withdrew her elbow, red-faced, as Amy hissed _"What was that for?_"

"I'm sorry," she mouthed. "Not yet, okay?"

"Spleesh. Alright!"

Fry, however, had looked up at the mention of her name.

"What about Leela?" he asked.

"Oh, um . .. Leela's . . . great?" Amy said weakly.

Fry snorted. "That's not hard to guess at all. Hey, All My Circuits is on. Turn it up!"


	11. Chapter 11

**A / N : Thanks for the reviews, everyone! You guys are great, and I love hearing from you. =D**

**Also, just to warn you guys, this is probably gonna go up to M from the next chapter on. Not really graphic M, if that makes anyone uncomfortable, but there's going to be sex (obviously), and I don't want this website to take my story down. So I think I should probably up the rating? I heard they're getting way more strict than they used to be about it.  
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**Bonus points if you know what Nibbler's singing . . . ;)  
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><p>The clock on the Robot Arms struck the hour.<p>

"_THE TIME IS FOUR A.M,"_ the automated voice boomed. A solitary hovertruck, bearing an overnight delivery of Slurm, buzzed past the Planet Express headquarters and whizzed out of sight. The street was deserted, save for Fry. He had a grim hold upon a leash, which was straining away from him as Nibbler wobbled in and out of the blue halogen haze of the street lights, singing in a deep, unsteady baritone.

When Fry reached the door of building, he took some small pleasure in yanking hard on Nibbler's leash, which cut off the singing momentarily as he scrabbled at the door.

"C'mon . . . . stupid DNA scanner . . . c'mon . . . yes!"

The doors slid open at last and Fry tumbled into the foyer, dragging Nibbler behind him.

"Come on," he muttered.

It wasn't until he reached the kitchen that he noticed a dim light in the hangar and his ears picked up the faint _whoosh _of a blowtorch. He dropped Nibbler on the conference table and stepped forward uncertainly, leaning over the rail.

"Uh, Professor? It's me. Fry," he added after a moment, remembering who he was talking to.

"Fry?"

Leela emerged from behind the ship, blinking as she removed her protective goggle. She was wearing overalls and her face was shiny and pale, suggesting insomnia.

"Leela?" Fry stumbled backwards and almost tripped over Nibbler, who had jumped off the table and started to sing again, swaying on the spot with all three eyes closed and a hand clasped to his heart, in the tradition of all the best Broadway soloists.

"_There's a fine, fine line," _he rumbled, _"between a loverrrrr, and a friennnd . . ."_

"Nibbler!" Leela cried. She hurried forward and tried to catch him, clicking her tongue in annoyance when he ducked underneath her outstretched arm and shot up the piping on the walls.

"What happened?" she asked, frustrated.

Fry merely stared at her, so that after a moment Leela felt her cheeks burn and put a hand self-consciously to her face.

"What is it? Is it my eye? Is it bloodshot? Oh, lord, I look monster-y, don't I? I couldn't sleep, and with one big eye, well, you know how it . . . " She trailed off. "It's the eye, isn't it?" she said flatly.

Fry shook his head mutely. What could he say? Leela was pasty and tired-looking, and wearing overalls Farnsworth had crafted from leftover canvas, which had all the figure-hugging qualities of over-sized elephant skin. It wasn't supposed to be attractive, any of it. _And it made absolutely no difference. _He wanted her. He wanted her so much.

Some of her hair had escaped its ponytail in the heat and begun to frizz, and there was engine oil streaked on her left cheek. There was a slight sheen of sweat on her forehead and he could just imagine, inside the suit, sweat forming under the heavy pressure of the neck and straps, gathering in her collarbone, trickling down . . .

_Ggghhhh. Shut up, shut up, shut up!_

"I went out with Amy and Bender," he managed at last.

This much was true, and part of the problem. Because bars with Amy and Bender meant drinking, and drinking meant not drinking as much as he'd like to, because he'd promised Leela - which meant thinking of Leela. And thinking of Leela and not drinking meant watching everyone else get drunk and grope each other, which left him cranky and lonely. Cranky, and lonely, and horny as hell.

He shook his head fiercely and blurted out the first safe thing he could think of.

"I need a Slurm!"

Everything tasted better with an ice-cold Slurm in your hand. Fry glugged his desperately, and felt his jangling nerves settle down.

"We took Nibbler with us," he continued, when it felt safe to do so. "He's really stressed out about all this end-of-the-universe junk. He thinks it's my fault. I swear, I woke up this morning and he was sniffing me. Weird, huh?"

He was aware that he was talking too fast, gabbling really, but the reason for this awkwardness was tactful enough to pretend she hadn't noticed.

Leela sighed. "Yeah. Poor little guy. He takes this steward of the universe stuff so seriously." She leaned in and lowered her voice to a whisper. "_I think he's gone a little loopy_."

"Me too. And he's worse when he's drunk! He kept shaking me by the shoulders and going "Think, Fry, think!"." Fry paused here for a wild-eyed demonstration that made Leela smile. "And I didn't wanna disturb you so I figured . . . I'm sleeping here tonight anyway . . ."

"What? Why?"

Fry shrugged. "Bender kicked me out of the apartment."

"Oh." Leela paused. "I hope you at least saw Amy home safe," she said reproachfully.

"Nah. Bender said he had it taken care of."

"Bender? Taking Amy home?" Leela gaped at him, trying to acquaint Bender with such an unselfish act. "You don't think . . . Amy and _Bender?" _

Fry's mouth fell open. "No! No way! Anyway, they were just bickering when I left. You know, _shut the hell up, you can't make me baby, _that kinda thing. Totally non-sexual in any way."

Leela groaned. "Oh, lord . . ."

"So, um . .." Fry coughed. "How come _you're_ here?"

Leela avoided his eye. "Oh, you know," she said airily. "The ship needed maintenance and Lars is on the night shift, so I thought if I can't sleep, I might as well do something useful."

Fry nodded absently as Nibbler's voice echoed in the domed roof of the hangar.

"_There's a fine, fine line, between together and apart . . . hic! . . . and there's a fine, fine line, between what you wanted, and what you got . . ."_

Fry felt his jaw clench unconsciously.

"I wish he'd shut up. He's been driving me crazy with that stupid song."

Leela groaned. "Tell me about it. Ugh. I'm sweating like a pig in this thing."

She pulled at the neck of her overalls, exposing another inch of shiny, sweaty skin, and Fry gulped.

_Slurm, Slurm, ice-cold Slurm . . . argh!_

Leela struggled out of her overalls, revealing her usual skin-tight black stretchpants and a white vest that was just the right side of transparent . . .

"Nnghh."

_Think about something else! _Fry screamed at himself.

"Whycouldn'tyousleep?"

"Huh?"

Leela frowned, dabbing at her forehead with a cool cloth. She might as well have been writhing around on the bonnet of a car, the effect the action had on Fry's already-suffering libido. He took a deep breath, praying the oxygen wouldn't surge in unwanted directions, and tried again.

"Why couldn't you – sleep?"

It was apparently the wrong thing to ask. Leela – usually so sure and in control of herself – seemed to freeze up, and then she blurted out :

"I was freaking out."

She clapped a hand to her mouth, appalled, and buried her head in her hands.

"I don't know what I was thinking," she mumbled. "I wish I could just . . . take a _break." _

"Then do."

"Huh? Oh, Fry . . . you don't understand."

"What's to understand? If your life is bugging you so much, just quit it for a while."

"Uh-huh. Maybe just freeze myself, you mean?" Leela said archly.

"No!"

"It was a joke."

"It wasn't funny."

Leela sighed, relenting at his serious expression.

"Fry . . . I can't just take a break from being married. It doesn't work like that."

"It does for swingers." Then the full meaning of Leela's words hit him, and Fry felt his world start to spin. "Uh . . . uh . . . _Lars _is the problem?" he stuttered. "But – but-"

"But he's perfect and I love him and I always wanted to be married? Yeah, yeah, I get it, Fry. Don't rub it in. _I'm _the problem!"

"You could never be the problem."

"Fry . . ." Leela groaned. "You're an idiot."

Fry scowled. "Yeah. I know_."_

Leela bit her lip, feeling unusually ashamed. "I'm sorry," she said quietly.

She fiddled with her wedding ring, twisting it on her finger, and then, suddenly, she pulled it off.

"What the hell. Why not?"

Fry stared at her in stunned silence as she threw the ring onto the conference table. They both watched the blurred golden circlet spin round and round, as Nibbler's voice rose to a crescendo behind them.

"_. . . but there's a fine, fine line between lo-o-ove . . ."_

They watched it spin . . .

"_. . . and a waste of time."_


	12. Chapter 12

**A / N : Okay, as of this chapter, the story has gone up to M rating. As I said, there shouldn't be anything really, crazy graphic, but I just feel like M gives me more freedom to do what I want with the story. I don't want the whole thing taken down because I said 'fuck' once, you know? I left the last chapter up for as long as I could to warn people, but I'm updating now, so if anyone didn't get the message - sorry, not my fault! **

**Also, I guess no-one knows Avenue Q? Huh. Go figure . . .  
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* * *

><p>Her wedding ring hit the smooth surface of the conference table and fell still. Leela stared at it, and then stared at Fry staring at it.<p>

_Haha. This is almost funny. _

"You know, I _do _feel better," she announced. She stood up, stretching the cramp from her muscles. Those overalls weighed a ton, but it wasn't that. She felt so much lighter now, even if she knew it couldn't last. She turned back to Fry, who seemed to have choked on his Slurm – he was mopping it frantically off his sleeve.

"I'll just take a coupla hours off to clear my head," she said. "That's all I need."

Just a few hours off and she'd feel stronger. She'd be able to love Lars again without feeling so goddamn _confused. _His talk about potential baby names wouldn't spark off a hideous, gut-wrenching bout of insomnia. Things would go back to normal. All she needed was to step out of the zone for a while and clear her head.

"I don't . . . feel so good," Nibbler declared from the roof of the Planet Express burped, made a sound halfway between a hiccup and a squeak, and then keeled over sideways.

Her pet bounced three times before he hit the floor, and Leela winced each time. She hurried over immediately to pick him up.

"Poor widdle guy," she crooned. "Is it tough not being all-knowing for once? Aw. I bet it is . . ."

"Leela!" Fry protested. "You're not taking a break! You're doing what you always do!"

"As opposed to what, exactly?"

"I dunno. Go nuts! Like this."

To illustrate his point, Fry started doing what Leela vaguely remembered was called the Hustle. He picked up the blowtorch and threw it up in the air, whistling, and then caught it and aimed it at the ship like a can of graffiti, melting a clumsy smiley face onto the paintwork.

"You do know that's coming out of your wages," Leela said sharply.

"So what? Come on, live a little! Do something impulsive!"

"Fine! Fine, I . . ." Leela cast about for inspiration and eventually settled on switching on the sound system. At _random. _She pointed."It's not even my playlist, see?"

"Leela, that sucks."

She scowled. "Hey, Fry, you know what would be really impulsive? Throwing that blowtorch at your head."

Fry gulped. "Okay then! Baby steps!" He paused at her expression. "What? What'd I say?"

Leela groaned, kneading her forehead. She could feel a headache building behind her eyeball.

"Forget it." She sighed and cast about for a distraction. The music wasn't helping. "What in Robot Hell are we listening to?"

"_And I'll integrate you to my servers, and I-I-I-I-I will incorporate you-u-u-u-u . . ."_

Fry grinned. "It's the soundtrack to that goopy girl movie Calculon was in. You put on _Bender's_ playlist. Hehe."

Leela shuddered. "That can't be right. Maybe it's Amy's. Or Zoidberg's. I know it's Calculon, but even Bender would be nauseated by this."

Fry's grin widened. "Nuh-uh. It's Bender's favorite movie. Star-crossed vampire robot lovers on a doomed venture to the planet of the apes. The jumbo space ape tears the ship in two and they're about to fall into a black hole . . ." - he waved his arms, re-enacting the scene - "so Calculon grabs IB-y and starts singing this junk at her, and instead of telling him to shut the hell up and quit being so mushy, she's all 'Ooh, Calculon, mwah mwah mwah'," - Fry mimed wide-eyed adoration - "and he's all '_Near, far, wherever you are, I-I-I-I will incorporate you-u-u-u-u . . .'"_

Fry, lost in his re-enactment, grabbed Leela around the waist and reeled her in, tearing at his hair and crooning the lines in Calculon's usual overblown style.

"And then _schwoop! - _the black hole sucks her up and the gorilla grabs Calculon and he's like "NOOOO – mmmphh."

Calculon's cry of despair was cut off with good reason – Leela had chosen that moment to seize the front of Fry's jacket, pull him towards her, and kiss him right on his blabbering lips.

Fry froze. To his credit, he pulled away almost immediately, staggering backwards in shock.

"Bu – bu – but . . . you . . ."

"Fry, shut up," Leela muttered.

She stepped forward. Fry stepped back again, until he hit the side of the ship and realized he'd backed himself into a corner. He held up his hands in a panic, but when Leela kissed him again he didn't fight her off. He stiffened against her as though electrified at first, but as her lips moved against his, he started to reciprocate. It was slow and dazed, but Leela would take what she could get.

He still tasted like Slurm.

Lars didn't touch the stuff, but Fry was and always had been addicted to it. It had been years since she'd had any reason to kiss him, but that was what she had always remembered – the sweet tang of Slurm tingling on her tongue. It suited him. It was sweet and juvenile and just a bit wrong, and it was _addictive. _That was Fry alright. It was probably unhealthy, and she was bound to regret it later, but this was turning out to be like opening a carton of ice-cream – she'd started off with such good intentions, but then she'd taken the first bite, and known she'd end up finishing the whole tub. And maybe opening another one. Leela would never have been so reckless – Leela knew to stick to her diet. But she wasn't Leela, was she? She was Leela-on-a-break, a Leela who did whatever the hell she wanted, without responsibility. And right now, she wanted Fry.

His heart was hammering beneath his shirt. He was terrified, she realized with an unwelcome stab of guilt. She pulled back.

"You can touch me, you know," she murmured.

Fry shook his head.

"I don't get it," he croaked. "You don't want me. You never wanted me . . ."

Oh, lord. She'd spent years trying to convince him their sexual tension was all in his head, and he'd chosen the most inconvenient moment to start believing her. But of course he had. Fry was hopeless at relationships, and she _had_ married someone else, which would have convinced anyone there was no hope. He had never been relationship material, she'd made that point clear over and over again. It was a shame she'd been less clear on the subject of her secret, sordid attraction to him.

A justifiable, prudent shame, maybe, but still a shame.

"What if I wanted you now? What if I wanted you . . . just for one night?" she purred in his ear.

Fry swallowed hard, and Leela realized, with another stab of shame, that he was shaking.

She wasn't being fair. She should stop this now.

These were all rational thoughts, but they were being drowned out by something that wasn't even want. It was need. It was something savage, a pull in her stomach, a surge of adrenaline that kicked at her every moment they weren't in contact. She needed Fry. And he wanted her. All she had to do was push the right buttons . . .

_You're really going to hate yourself for this tomorrow, _a little voice whispered in her head.

Leela ignored it, and decided to concentrate on pushing buttons. She leaned in to Fry again and pressed her lips gently to his.

"Just_ once _then," she whispered. Fry moaned against her mouth. She breathed in and hooked her fingers into the waistband of his jeans. A muscle jumped in his abdomen as her hand brushed the skin and he shuddered, but when Leela went to remove her hand his arm jerked up. He seized her by the wrist. He'd cracked.

Leela hardly had a moment to savor her victory. Fry pulled her in sharply, and kissed her hungrily as his other hand crumpled the bottom of her tank top, seeking skin. He moaned desperately.

"Just once . . ." he said hoarsely. "It's not so bad if it's just once?"

Leela nodded encouragingly, triumph exploding in her stomach as he strained against her. His hips bucked against her hand, and he let out another shuddering groan. "No," she agreed. "Not _so_ bad . . ."

There was a hole in this argument, she knew, but right now she had no idea what it was.

"Okay," Fry mumbled, and pressed his lips flush to hers.


	13. Chapter 13

_It wasn't just once._

Leela opened her eye, and the ceiling of her cabin on the ship swam into view. A series of less mundane images flashed across her inner eye, and she had to bite down on her arm to stop herself from screaming.

"Oh god. Oh god. Oh, _god."_

She had slept with Fry. She stared at her hand, willing herself to find some evidence it wasn't true. But her finger was ringless and her body was more than happy to provide its own evidence. She ached all over ; the dull, satisfied throb of someone completely spent. However tortured her mind might be, her body was perfectly content, and happy to rub the point in her face. _You didn't just sleep with Fry, _it sneered, _you banged his brains out. _

Leela fought against the tidal wave of resurfacing memory. There was no point reviewing it – she already knew the most important thing.

It was all her fault.

_You enjoyed it though, _the smug little voice in her head reminded her. _That's what you get for ten years of sexual tension. He passed out! Ha! _

She sat bolt upright. Fry _had _passed out, but he wasn't here in the bed with her. Leela experienced a moment of brief, paralysing fear – what if he'd gone and told Bender? - and then she saw him. He was sitting on the floor on the other side of the room, and he'd been watching her this whole time.

He was fully dressed, and he looked terrible. He had dug his sneakers into the floor and crossed his arms over his knees, locking himself in place so he couldn't run. He was pale, and looked even more terrified, if that were possible, than he had when she'd first kissed him last night. His mouth was pressed into a tight line, as though he was so afraid he might actually throw up.

He flinched when she caught his eye, and held up his hands.

"Please don't hate me," he blurted out.

Leela stared, horror creeping over her as she figured it out.

He thought she was going to blame him. Was she really that bad? True, she wished it could be his fault – it would make this a hell of a lot easier – but he must know it wasn't.

"I don't hate you, Fry."

Fry blinked. "You – you don't?"

What did he think he was guilty of? Not saying no? _Yes, _she realized. _That's exactly what he thinks. _Leela felt a new surge of self-loathing. She had pushed the one thing he'd always wanted on him, and he felt guilty for taking it. Ten years of carefully not abusing Fry's feelings for her, and she had undone it all in one night.

Leela kneaded her forehead.

"This was . . . it was my idea. It was my _fault_. Not yours."

"I don't get it."

Leela sighed. "Fry, all you did was say yes. Stop beating yourself up and leave that to me, why don't you?"

Fry frowned. "That's not what I meant."

"What?"

"I mean . . . that too, but . .. why? Why did you do it? I mean," he avoided her eye, "I know why _I _did it. But why would you even want me?"

"Oh, Fry . . ."

Leela started to cry. Fry leapt up at once, but stopped about six inches away from her and hung back awkwardly.

"Don't cry. Please."

Unfortunately this only made her cry all the harder. This, Leela thought bitterly, was why she had always avoided the whole messy area of Fry's feelings for her. All she had ever tried to do was keep him at a safe distance, to stop either of them getting hurt. But it had all snowballed somehow, and now here he was, unable to understand why she – Leela, one-eyed mutant orphan girl – would ever want him. She had thought she liked being Fry's unattainable goal, had thought she enjoyed being up on a pedestal for once. It didn't feel so good anymore.

Leela blew her nose, trying to pull herself together. She couldn't face all this now.

"I wanted someone," she lied. "You were just there, Fry."

"Oh. Okay."

Leela winced. She had grown up in an orphanarium. She knew what it was like to have hopes you didn't even dare admit to yourself, and she knew what it was like to have them squashed. It hurt to watch that same feeling play across Fry's face, to watch him try and be nonchalant about it.

_Lars! _She ordered herself. _Think about Lars!_

"Please don't tell anyone," she whispered.

"Sure," Fry said, in the same hollow, faux-nonchalant voice.

_I'm sorry, _she wanted to say, but the words just wouldn't come out. They were too complicated.

The sound of Hermes whistling in the hangar made them both jump.

"I'm on it," Fry said quickly. He almost ran from the cabin, but must have exited the ship calmly enough, because Hermes didn't seem to notice anything suspiscious.

"Hey, Hermes, you wanna grab some breakfast?"

"Mmm, breakfast. Sounds good, mon!"

Their footsteps receeded and Leela let her head fall forwards again with a groan. She looked up at the tinkle of metal on her bedside locker.

Nibbler had just spat out her wedding ring.

"_Nibbler?"_

"I suspected you might want this," her pet said. "Incidentally, do you have any aspirin? And possibly a ham?"

"_Nibbler?"_

"Ah. Yes?"

After a moment Leela became aware that though her mouth was moving, there weren't any words coming out.

"You – you – you _watched?_"

"Certainly not!" Nibbler looked affronted. "I mostly _overheard_."

Leela choked. "_Nibbler!"_

Her pet edged away. "I am Nibblonian! Not human! Really, the mating rituals of another species hold very little interest for me . . . aha . . . ahem."

Leela seized him by the scruff of the neck. "One word to Lars," she snapped, "and I'll put you in a hamster cage! I mean it!"

"Of course! I would never dream of interfering, Leela," Nibbler said solemnly.

Leela frowned at him. "I almost believe you," she said bitterly. She let him fall and buried her head in her hands, wondering what the hell she had just done. And _why. _


	14. Chapter 14

Lars didn't suspect a thing. He stumbled in from the night shift, joked that they both looked like they'd had a rough night, and hit the shower, same as usual. He carried on yesterday's conversation about baby names, unsuspecting, and didn't seem to notice Leela's pale face or stiff responses.

He didn't know.

The crew didn't seem to notice either. Farnsworth was lost to senility, Hermes to bureaucracy, and Zoidburg to his never-ending pursuit of friends and food. Amy and Bender were secretive and weird, and while Leela privately wondered how in the world it had happened, she was at least grateful for their timing. Bender would have sniffed out gossip like this at a hundred paces if he didn't have something of his own to hide.

As it was, Leela had to feign surprise when she stumbled across him and Amy half-dressed in a closet. Amy shrieked and covered herself with a copy of _ZeroG Jugs _(Leela wondered briefly who the hell owned _that) _and Bender's antenna depressed with a forlorn little sound.

"Uh-oh. Uh, hey there, big boots! You're looking especially eyeball-y today. You know, I bet you could even keep a scandalous robosexual secret for your ol' buddies Bender and Amy, and not go sticking your nose in like you usually do . . . am I right?"

Leela rolled her eye. "Bender, words fail – oh, forget it."

She stomped off, feeling almost as foul-tempered as before. Unfortunately this left her with only one place to go – the employee lounge, where Fry was playing video games with Cubert. And losing, apparently. Leela took a seat on the couch and tried to behave like a normal, non-adulterous person with nothing special to feel guilty about, and no flashbacks to naked, sweaty fellow crew members, mumbling _I love yous_ as his mouth pressed hot against her skin . . .

_Oh, crud. _

As she sat down, Fry's avatar stumbled and was gored by his opponent, then kicked into a pool of lava. _GAME OVER._

Cubert gave a contemptuous oink. "You stink even worse than usual! What is up with you today?"

"Nothing's up," Fry snapped. "Shut up."

"Hey, Bender," Cubert called, "your dimwitted buddy stinks nearly as bad as you! Did you drop him on his head again?"

"Shut your snout, Cubert," Leela interjected.

Cubert snorted. "Oooh, I'm scared. Hey, Fry, look! Leela's sticking up for you! Mmm-mmm, mmm! Kissy kissy – ow!"

Leela had thrown the remote at his head. Bender laughed.

"Nice shot, meatbag."

The robot sank into the couch next to Fry and poked him in the ribs. When his roommate didn't respond he narrowed his optics and raised Fry's arm, letting it flop limply back down again.

"Fry's broken."

Fry pulled his arm away. "I'm fine," he muttered. "Quit it, Bender."

"Nah, fixed him! So, meatbag, thanks for clearing out last night. Bender scored big. And I mean _Nixonbucks _big."

Amy giggled. Fry paled.

"Super," he said hoarsely.

"And?"

"Huh?"

"Aren't you gonna ask for all the juicy details? Because it _was _scandalous, and if anyone finds out . . . well, they might just say Bender's gone too far this time. This is one uptown broad, but it's -" - he turned down the volume - "_taboo." _

"That's great, Bender."

"Huh? Are you even listening to me?"

"Really great, Bender."

"Hey!"

"Bender is great."

"Oh." Bender settled back, mollified. "You _were _listening! So anyways . . ."

Bender continued to talk. Amy continued to giggle suspisciously at every veiled reference to her. Cubert continued to snort nervously and pull faces at any mention of sex. Fry continued to stare blankly at the screen. Leela watched him nervously for a few minutes, and then, satisfied the others were distracted, reached over and ruffled his hair with her fingertips.

He jumped, and she quickly withdrew her hand.

"You okay?"

Fry swallowed.

"Sure."

* * *

><p>The Professor had discovered Amy and Bender mid-makeout, and all hell had broken loose.<p>

"Amy? You and _Amy_? Bender, how could you?"

Fry pulled dead leaves from his hair, glaring. Bender simply took another drag of his cigar, and shrugged carelessly.

"No reason why not. I'm Bender, she's loaded . . . it was bound to happen sooner or later. Anyway, what are you so knotted up about? You and Squishy were done years ago."

"Squishy?" Leela interrupted.

"Y'know, Amy. You meatsacks are all squishy. It's not half bad." The robot winked.

"But – but she's _human," _Fry said fruitlessly.

Even Leela found her attention pulled away from the ship's controls. Bender out-and-out stared.

"So what?" he said angrily. "You don't care about all that. Either does Amy."

"_You _do," Fry snapped.

Bender blew a smoke ring in his face. "Nah. I'll admit, before me and Amy started gettin' it on, I was as judgemental about metal fever as the next robot. Only more so, 'coz I'm Bender, and Bender does everything better than the next robot. But there's something to be said for you humans, if you know what I mean." He winked again. "You get all hot and sticky. It's fun."

"Shut up!"

Bender sniggered at Fry's expression. "Eh, pipe down, meatbag. Whaddya have to get so uptight for?" When Fry merely growled in the back of his throat, Bender narrowed his optics and studied him more closely. "Oh, I get it. You need to get laid."

"No!"

"Yeah right. How long has it been, anyway?"

"Nngh."

Leela almost crashed the ship, but Bender seemed to interpret Fry's choking sound as nothing worse than embarrassment, because he laughed and thumped his friend on the back.

"Yeah, yeah. Get some of your own, buddy. Jealousy is an ugly, ugly thing."

"It's not about that."

"Whatever you say, amigo . . ."

"It's not! I just think you should leave Amy alone."

Leela frowned. "He has a point, Bender. What about Kif? Amy still loves him. Things could get a little messy, don't you think?"

"Nah. The problem with you is you overthink stuff. You're always thinking about crap like consequences. It's just sex. Nobody's dragging _feelings _into it. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going below deck to have a little fun."

Bender tapped his cigar ash onto Fry's head and headed off in the direction of the arguing Amy and Farnsworth.

Fry sank glumly into his seat as Leela watched him. Eventually she switched on the autopilot and turned to face him.

"Fry . . . Amy's a big girl. She can look after herself." She played awkwardly with her wristlojackimator. "Although it is awfully sweet of you to try and look out for her."

"No it's not. Bender's right. I'm just jealous."

Leela felt her stomach clench. "Because he has Amy?" she managed at last.

"What? No! Because he doesn't _care_."

"Well." Leela cleared her throat. "We'd all like to be as selfish as Bender sometimes."

Fry stared at the floor. "I feel weird," he muttered.

"You have looked better. Maybe you're coming down with something."

"That's not what I meant," Fry mumbled, as Leela put her hand on his forehead to take his temperature. "I feel all shaken up, like a milkshake or something."

Leela laughed nervously. "Uh-huh." She hesitated when he touched her arm. "Fry . . ."

"I think about you all the time. Like a crazy person. I can't eat, I can't sleep . . . even Slurm doesn't taste good anymore. Maybe I _am_ sick." Fry twined his fingers through hers, staring at her intently. "Or maybe I'm just going crazy."

Leela tugged her hand away, and sighed heavily.

"Fry, I put you in a situation you're _completely_ ill-equipped to handle," she said. "I screwed up, and I'm sorry. I wanted something and I took it, and I didn't think about you at all. You have every right to hate me for that. But right now I have to fly the ship and hold it together, okay?"

She touched his cheek.

"I trampled all over your feelings, and I care about that," she said awkwardly, "I do. But this isn't the place to talk about it."

"Oh. Well, can we talk about it when Zapp's finished with us?"

"We'll – wait, _what?"_

Sure enough, a sudden gloom had fallen over the cockpit.

"_Docking complete," _the autopilot said breezily.

"Oh, lord – you snake!"

"_Sobriety level 43.9 per cent. This is your seventh reminder notice. Prepare to be boarded, captain!"_

Hermes stumbled into the room. "Leela! What's goin' on, mon? Eh. Woman," he corrected himself quickly, as Leela's glare fell upon him.

"The autopilot docked us with the Nimbus."

"Dat drunk!"

Hermes didn't get any further, however, because Zapp Brannigan had just entered the room, wearing a sleazy smile and cologne so strong it was making Kif's eyes water behind him.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the lovely Leela. And some other people I can't be bothered to pay attention to right now . . ."

Leela scowled. "Zapp."

Brannigan leered back at her, as impervious as ever to her disgust.

"Leela. The luscious Leela. Tell me, how are you finding married life? Has the _itch_ started to sink in yet?"

Leela would have taken a deep breath to calm herself, but Zapp's cologne put paid to that plan.

"It's been two years, Zapp, not seven. I realize you only usually need 'zero' love interests and 'wave after wave' of your own men, but you might want to consider learning some other numbers."

Zapp stared blankly at her. "Huh?"

"I said-"

"No matter. Hush, Leela. Bestill those . . . sensuous lips. _Mmmm_. I was referring to the _Captain's _itch." He waggled his eyebrows. "An itch that only one man can scratch, and I, Leela, am that man!"

"Ugh." Leela leaned away. "Not if the universe was ending, Brannigan."

"The universe ending, you say?" Zapp waggled an eyebrow. "Kif, make a note of it."

"Yes, captain," Kif said wearily. He duly jotted this down, and then turned apologetically to Leela. "We just need to stamp your permits," he explained.

Hermes jumped up. "Bureaucratisin'!" he cried happily. "Why didn't ya say so? Outta my way, non-authorized personnel!"

As Hermes bent over his miniature filing cabinet, Kif sidled over to Fry and Leela.

"Uh . . . uh . . . how is Amy?" he managed at last.

Leela winced. There were times when Kif's nerves were almost too painful to watch. She was about to put him at ease when Fry jumped in, attempting (far less successfully) to do the same thing.

"She's doing great. Uh, I mean, not great. Uh. Uh." He shifted nervously from foot to foot. There was a pause as he writhed uncomfortably on the spot. Then he blurted out :"She's sleeping with Bender!"

"Fry, you idiot!"

"I'm sorry!" the delivery boy wailed. "I just couldn't take it, Leela. The tension was killing me!"

Leela rolled her eye. "All you had to do was keep your mouth shut!" she hissed. "How hard can it be?"

Fry stuck his hands in his pockets, looking surly. "It was too confusing," he whined. "I had to keep my mouth shut about that, and about Bender's smuggling ring, and about us having se- unngghhh . . . s-second helpings at Scruffy's buffet."

Hermes looked up briefly, outraged. "You had second helpings? Selfish dawgs!"

"I know," Leela said quickly. "We're ashamed of ourselves. _Aren't we_, Fry?"

She glared at him. Fry nodded fervently. Then the moment of panic passed, and he slumped even further against the wall of the ship, staring at his shoes.

"Sorry," he muttered to Kif.

The Amphisobian hardly seemed to hear him. The sheaf of paper in his hand drooped and fell to the floor, unheeded, as he stared vacantly into the distance.

"Amy . . ." he whispered.

Leela touched his arm awkwardly, concerned. "Are you okay?"

Kif jerked away. "Fine," he snapped. "I'm fine, thank you. Excuse me."

He hurried from the ship without another word, leaving Zapp to holler after him in vain.


	15. Chapter 15

The crew had gathered around the conference table to break the news to Amy. Leela set a jumbo box of Kleenex in the center of the table and took a deep breath as Amy dropped Bender's hand and sat up a little straighter, eying the box carefully.

"Guh-oh." The Martian girl took in the pitying looks of Leela and Hermes, and the way Fry was doggedly avoiding her gaze. She frowned. "How bad is it?"

"We . . . well, you know we docked with the Nimbus."

Amy attempted a smile. "Yeah, I heard. I was pretty lucky to miss Kif."

"Yes." Leela paused. "But . . . see, the thing is . .. we weren't." She sighed, and decided to just get it over with. "Fry told him about you and Bender."

Amy paled.

Fry tugged the ring off a can of Slurm and began toying with it. "I'm really sorry, Amy," he mumbled.

"I . . . what did he say? How did he take it?"

Fry shrugged. "Like you stomped all over his heart. With really big boots on."

"Fry!" Leela hissed. She kicked him under the table, but he merely jerked his foot back and refused to look at her.

"It's true," he snapped, with more than his usual peevishness. "And if it's true, she should know about it." He looked at Amy, and softened a little. "Sorry," he muttered.

"I don't know what to do!" Amy cried, burying her face in her hands. Leela couldn't help scowling at the way her voice broke at the sentence's end, prompting every male in the room to reach for her. Bender slung his arm around her shoulders, Fry reached awkwardly for her hand, and Hermes patted her sadly on the thigh. When Amy cried she was just so gosh-darn cute, wasn't she? When _Leela _cried, on the other hand, she went all out, and turned into a blotchy-cheeked, snotty mess, from which men recoiled in horror.

Bender lit a cigar with his free hand, and appeared to consider Amy's question.

"The way I see it," he said at last, "you got two choices. You can sit here like a chump and let your man think you're not good enough for him. Or you can make _me _your man, and show him he ain't good enough for _you. _What do you say?"

Amy stared. "I-I don't know what I say. What are _you_ saying?"

Bender took her hand.

"I'm sayin', stick it to him where it hurts."

He took a long drag of his cigar and then exhaled. The resulting smoke ring floated through Amy's hand and settled lightly on her cheek. She blinked it away, coughing, and Bender's mouth turned up in an unmistakeable smile.

"Marry me."

* * *

><p>It was a full week before Leela managed to get Fry to herself, and even then it was a close thing. She ended up taking advantage of the confusion at Amy's engagement party, when the Preacherbot was discovered disguised in a heavy mac and pork-pie hat, planning to kidnap the happy couple. The rest of the party-goers, by now pretty drunk, were only too happy to join Amy and Bender in chasing him with magnets. Bender had found a fiddle somewhere, Amy's sorority sisters were shrieking in Cantonese, and above it all the Preacherbot was bellowing <em>"REPENT! AHHHH! REPENT - AGHHH! - SINNERS!"<em>.

Leela saw her chance when the magnet flew past Fry and dinged him on the back of the head. Momentarily stunned, the redhead didn't object when Leela seized him by the collar and hauled him out of sight. She shoved him into what she assumed was another room in Amy's apartment.

It turned out to be the closet.

"Oh. Good. _Lord."_

The cyclops stared around her, overwhelmed.

"I don't think I've ever seen so much _pink," _she breathed at last, faintly nauseated.

Fry had been rubbing the back of his head, looking cranky, but when he saw her expression his mouth twitched in the ghost of a grin.

"I know, right? Hey, watch what happens when you do _this_."

He flicked a switch and the lights dimmed. A moment later a pink mirrorball started to spin on the ceiling, casting tiny heart-shaped flecks of light.

"Cute," Leela said coldly. Her stomach had taken an unexpected dip. Maybe Fry knew about the switch because he had slept with Amy. Here. In this room. Right where they were standing. The thought made her feel inexplicably sick.

Fry blundered on, oblivious.

"Yeah . .. she showed me when my head was stuck on her neck. We were _always _in here. I mean, jeez, how many times can you get dressed? We were always getting dressed. She said everything 'clashed with my coloring'. Can you believe that?"

Leela said nothing. She wasn't sure why, but she could feel her annoyance mounting.

"If you can drag your mind away from Amy for _five minutes . . ." _

"Huh?"

Leela shook her head in frustration. What was she doing? This wasn't supposed to be about Amy, about some petty resentment from years back. She had planned to play this cool, to be understanding, damn it! She had meant to be kind, to tell Fry that she loved Lars and it had meant nothing, and to try and salvage something of their friendship. She had _meant_ to sort through some of the confusion he was obviously so ill-equipped to deal with. And instead she was standing in the apartment of one of her only female friends, with a sudden savage jealousy chewing her apart from the inside. _You slept with Amy. That bitch. _

What the hell? But her mouth was racing far ahead of her.

"If you're done destroying Amy's relationship, that is."

"I'm not . . . I wasn't!" Fry protested. "I was just trying to be a good friend."

"Oh? First you object to her and Bender, then you screw up any hope she has of getting back on track with Kif. Sounds like a real good friend. Sounds like more than a friend, if you ask me. Maybe you want her back yourself. Maybe that's what all this is really about."

"_What?" _Fry exploded. "I don't want Amy! I want you, and you're crazy if you don't know it."

Some inner voice was screaming at Leela that she knew it very well, but it was being drowned out by the crazy surging through her veins.

"Sure," she heard herself sneer. "Sure, you want me. But hey, no harm in freeing up Amy too, right?"

"Wha . . .? No! Look, Amy and Bender . . . I didn't want it to get weird, with us all working together and her still being in love with Kif! I like Amy – as a _friend, _sheesh, do I even have to say it? - and I don't want her to get hurt. Rebound relationships always suck. Look at me and Colleen. And Bender's my friend. My _best _friend. He doesn't know what it's like to be with someone and know you're not good enough the whole time, he doesn't know how much it _blows. _And I didn't want him to know. Because it does blow, Leela. I love you, and it blows. It _stinks_, it sucks, it's killing me. And I still can't stop."

He paused for breath, panting, and they glared at one another. Leela felt as though her skin was suddenly too tight for her. There was too much hot, furious _something _trying to get out, straining beneath the surface. Before she knew what had happened she had seized him by the collar and pulled him up sharp, crashing her lips to his in an instinctive, hungry kiss.

He didn't pull away. Maybe he was past trying to be noble about it, or maybe (more likely) he was just too mad to think straight. Either way, Fry was kissing her back, just as passionately, just as _angrily. _

Angry was pretty much the word for what this was. She pushed Fry's jacket off his shoulders as they stumbled backwards into a ceiling-high shoe rack. This hint that she wanted more, that she wanted to do this to him again, didn't go unnoticed. He growled in frustration. Leela didn't blame him – she hated _herself _for doing this to him, but . .. but . . . _anger_. She hadn't been angry like this in a long time. Lars never gave her any reason to be, and until recently, Fry had been so miserable it hadn't seemed fair to lose her temper with him. But he wasn't miserable now. He was furious, and oh, god, she'd missed it. Her teeth snagged on his lower lip and Leela tasted blood, hot and oddly sweet on her tongue. It should have been disgusting, but it wasn't. She moaned – shivering, boneless for an instant as the taste flooded her mouth – and then she went wild, tearing at his shirt with her nails, clawing him closer. She was gasping, pleading, demanding something, though her head was spinning too much to focus on the words. _Don't _and _stop _and _no, _it sounded like, but why was she saying that? Maybe it was _don't stop. _Don't stop what? Don't stop this? That sounded more likely, given that she had pressed every inch of exposed flesh to him and was fumbling even now at the zipper of his pants, moaning her dissatisfaction.

If Fry thought she was playing chicken with him, he didn't give her the chance to lose her nerve. He pulled off her tank top in a motion that was clumsy but swift, and then he was sucking her neck, kissing her collarbone – he bit down unexpectedly on her breast, and Leela cried out. She launched herself forward and they stumbled back again, this time into a rail of Amy's sweatpants, which was a soft landing at least. They landed in a tangle of pink polyester, and for a moment, Leela was jolted back to reality, aware of the fact that this was a bad idea, though no less aching to do it.

Fry seemed too far gone for that. Of course, he would be. He just did things on impulse, without _thinking, _and it drove her mad. Steal a Luna Park buggy on the moon? Sure! Leap between her and a killer space bee? No problemo. Try and leave the universe? Why the hell not?

He had that same look now. He wouldn't be capable of stopping this, unless she dragged him back to his senses. But why did she always have to be the sensible one? And how _could _she be, when he was being so maddeningly . . . maddeningly . . . _Fry. _

They were in a hot, tangled mess, kissing ferociously as they kicked off shoes and tore at clothes, a push-pull that seemed to leave them both straining for more.

She was going to stop this. She was going to stop this . . .

Fry's movements were fast and jerky. Leela sank her fingers into his upper arm, hard, feeling the muscles knot.

He was angry and hurt and this was a mess_ . . . _and then he was inside her and she couldn't have stopped for anything.

_Oh, god, Fry . . ._

The cyclops arched her back and cried out. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She wasn't supposed to feel like this – like she didn't know where she ended and Fry began, and didn't care. Like something missing had finally fallen into place. This was supposed to feel cheap and sordid and guilty. It wasn't supposed to feel _right!_

Fry groaned and collapsed against her, gasping for breath. He rolled over onto his back, and they both lay staring at the ceiling for a long moment.

"I love you, Leela."

This time it wasn't anger in Fry's voice. It was defeat.

"I . . ." Leela felt her mouth open and close. "I don't know what I feel," she whispered.

When Fry reached cautiously for her hand, she didn't have the strength not to hold on.


	16. Chapter 16

Hypnotoad was on, but it had been in decline since the third season, so Fry wasn't really surprised to find no-one watching it. In fact, at first glance he thought he had the employee lounge to himself. It was a moment before he noticed Zoidberg - skulking in the corner and chewing furtively on the leaves of a potted plant - and . . . Leela. Leela was here too, sitting at the table and staring vacantly into space, like she had a lot on her mind. Every now and then she touched her wedding band, only to draw her hand back as though burned.

Fry hovered awkwardly for a minute. Part of him wanted to leave, because he knew there was a really unpleasant conversation scheduled for the next time he saw Leela, and he really didn't want to hear it. He had been avoiding her for days, just so he wouldn't _have_ to hear it. But now she was here, and he couldn't just leave her. She looked so miserable, and even though he couldn't help feeling like having sex with her (either time) hadn't really been his decision, he still felt guilty. So he cracked open a Slurm and sat down opposite her, steeling himself for the worst.

Surprisingly, it didn't come. When Leela finally noticed him, she merely blinked and looked sad, or confused, or some other emotion Fry didn't have a hope in hell of identifying.

She stared at him for a moment, at a loss. Fry took a nervous swig of his Slurm, and then another, as Leela watched the can's progress from the table to his mouth. He was raising it a third time when her hand shot out unexpectedly and grabbed it. She took a gulp and forced a smile.

"Hi, Fry."

"Uh. Hey, Leela . . ."

His voice came out sounding a lot more high-pitched than he'd meant it to. _Great._ Now she'd know he was thinking about having sex with her, and how great it was. And also confusing. And also kind of . . . the most amazing thing that had ever happened, in any universe, ever. And then she'd probably be mad, and never have sex with him again.

Leela sighed. "I don't know what to do," she said softly. "I don't even know what to think anymore, Fry. I'm so confused."

Fry swallowed. Leela was hurting, and that wasn't right, but he didn't know how to fix it. _She _was supposed to know how to fix it – she always did. That was how it went. Fry stuffed up and lost all hope, and Leela did whatever she thought was right, even if it hurt him, because she understood this stuff. Fry knew about love, but Leela knew about relationships. If she stuffed up it was only because the lucky guy she was with was a loser who didn't deserve her.

_Now I'm the loser, _Fry thought absently. _And I'm not even lucky! Though I would be if I had my seven-leaf clover . . . _

And then it hit him. He reached for Leela's hand.

"Come with me."

Leela hesitated, and Fry felt a sudden surge of embarrassment – maybe he shouldn't be doing this, maybe he should have hung back – but then she nodded and stood up.

"Okay."


	17. Chapter 17

"Fry, where are we?"

Leela was beginning to feel annoyed.

"We're nearly there! Don't open your eye yet!"

Fry gripped her elbow, steering her around some invisible obstacle as Leela tried to guess where they were. The sewers, maybe? The air had that dank, underground feel to it, but it couldn't be the sewers – she'd know that stench anywhere.

"We're not going to visit my parents, are we?" she asked cautiously.

"Nope. Hold up. Okay, steps. Just take it real slow . . ."

Leela edged her way, blind, up a flight of creaking steps, and then Fry cried "Stop!" and she opened her eye.

She was standing in a gloomy, moldy-looking old room. The absence of light proved her suspiscions right – they _were _underground – but other than that, Leela was at a loss. She had never been here before. Or had she? It did look a little familiar . . .

Leela stepped a little closer to the wall, blowing the dust off what she had thought at first glance was some ancient manuscript.

It was a Star Trek poster.

She spun round, taking in the room with a fresh eye. The shabby single bed, the ancient television set, the Beastie Boys cds . . .

"Fry . . . this looks like your old room."

"It is! Um. Kinda. I mean, it is . . . but not like that!" Fry protested, as he caught her disapproving glare. "We're not here like that! It's just - " he stuck his hands in his pockets - "it's a good place to think. And stuff."

"Stuff," Leela said archly.

"Not . . . Jeez! I meant . . ." Fry waved his hands vaguely, avoiding her eye. "Stuff. Stuff I can't do with Bender around."

Leela snorted. There couldn't be much on that list - Bender made enough jacking off jokes to convince her of that. She was about to say so when she noticed that Fry was avoiding her eye with more determination than ever, and she remembered where they were, and how he had cried over that dead dog.

Maybe there were things he kept hidden from Bender.

"It was stupid," Fry said awkwardly. "I just thought maybe you needed someplace to think, and this is where Ialways come when _I _need someplace to think, so . . ." He tailed off and sat down heavily on the bed. "It was stupid."

Leela looked around. "No," she said slowly. "It wasn't stupid, Fry. Actually," she confessed, "I kinda like it down here. It reminds me of my parents' place."

Fry brightened. "That was the first place I thought of," he said eagerly. "But your mom and dad are such a big deal to you, you're always trying to _do the right thing _and make them proud and stuff, so I figured being around them would just stress you out more."

Leela felt the corner of her mouth twitch.

"That's surprisingly insightful. And a little bit offensive." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek as she whispered, "But thanks for trying."

Fry had opened his mouth to say something else, but her sudden proximity seemed to dry his throat, and no words emerged. He turned his head and his lips brushed hers. It was just a light touch at first, but when she didn't pull away, he shut his eyes and kissed her again. Leela kissed him back, feeling herself unspool. She had to admit, it was nice. It was cramped but unexpectedly comfortable, squashed together on Fry's single bed. She was leaning on his chest, feeling his heart thump beneath the heel of her hand. Their ankles were tangled together, and Fry had her cheek cupped in one hand ; he was kissing her in a lazy, contented sort of way, as if he could do it all day.

The kids in the orphanarium had used to do this, as teenagers. Leela never had, but she had watched them jealously, crammed into each other's beds, kissing and giggling, and whispering together like members of some secret club. At the sound of Warden Vogel's footsteps they would spring apart and leap back to their own beds with flushed cheeks and swollen mouths, and Leela had wondered, bitterly, if kissing could really be _that_ much fun. By the time she'd got around to be being kissed, it had lost its magic. It was something men did as a clumsy overture to sex, standing on her doorstep and waiting for her to invite them up for the real action. She'd missed out on years of ticking off bases and hiding lovebites, but it wasn't until right now that she realized just how much she'd lost in her lonely teenage years.

Leela knew she ought to stop this, but her teenaged self seemed to have taken over her brain. Fry was sucking on her neck, and she was moaning happily, before she came to her senses again.

"Stop," she gasped. "Stop . . . Fry . . ."

She pulled away as reality returned like a bucket of cold water. Fry made a muffled, indifferent noise. When she pulled away he simply moved with her, as though her lips were some magnetic point of contact. Even turning her head had little effect. He only found somewhere else to kiss, and she could feel him grinning against her skin, laughing, wearing her down. His happiness was catching, as Fry's emotions tended to be. They always had been, now that she thought about it. Whatever Fry felt, he felt it so simply, so unconstrainedly, that it swept her along with him. She had always been miserable in Applied Cryogenics, but it was Fry's feelings – Fry's expression, holding out his hand in the ruins of Old New York – that prompted her to pull the career chip out of her own palm. And then there was the opera. The holophonor. The stupid Romanticorp candy and the parrot that had almost got him killed ; all the clumsy gestures meaning "I love you", which tugged at her like a tide, no matter how many barriers she threw up to force them back.

Her stomach clenched in sudden panic.

"We can't do this."

Leela felt Fry's heart skip, felt his skin grow hotter under her touch as her own panic bounced back at her.

"But you _want _to," he protested.

"Fry, I'm married."

"I don't care! I love you! And you . . ." Fry hesitated, looking suddenly uncertain. "I know you feel something for me," he said nervously.

Leela said nothing. She _couldn't _say anything. She couldn't seem to pull away either, when Fry reached for her hand.

"So just leave him," he said desperately. "Just . . . just give me a chance. I could make you happy, I know I could."

"Fry . . ."

"I _could." _He touched her cheek and kissed her again.

Leela couldn't stop herself relaxing into him.

"See?" he mumbled. "You're happy now."

"It's not that simple."

"Yes it is," Fry said stubbornly. "You're happy or you're not happy. It's not like you can be both."

Leela pushed him away, annoyed. Intentionally or not, Fry had hit a nerve.

"Maybe _you _can't," she snapped.

Fry blinked, obviously stung. And then, for the first time, he moved away from her.

"You don't have to be smart to feel stuff," he said angrily. "I love you. How come that never counts for anything?"

"Because it takes more than that to make something work. It wouldn't _work, _Fry. It just . . . wouldn't."

"The only one saying that is you," Fry retorted. "And you won't even try."

"Because I know what would happen!" Leela said, exasperated.

"What? No you don't! You couldn't know that! I mean, unless you're pyschic or something. And I'm pretty sure you're not. You would definitely have mentioned it."

There was silence for a beat, and Leela realized he was waiting for her to respond.

"I'm not pyschic."

"It'd be really neat if you were. You could-"

"_Fry."_

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

Leela sighed. "Fry, you couldn't hold down a relationship. You can't even hold down a conversation."

The hurt flashed across his face before she could even think about taking it back. She opened her mouth but it was too late – Fry's expression had hardened into something she'd never seen before.

"Yeah?" he said. "Well, you're controlling and interfering and a complete killjoy, but _I_ still love _you. _I guess I am an idiot then, coz I thought that was kind of the point."

Leela was still reeling when he crossed the room and walked out, slamming the door behind him. The action set the whole dilapidated house rocking. Dust showered down from the ceiling and a chunk of plaster peeled away from the wall and drooped forlornly to the floor - but Fry didn't come back.


	18. Chapter 18

Leela stepped into the gloomy hallway and shut the door as quietly as possible, leaning her forehead against the cool wood. Her head was throbbing.

_Please don't be here. Please don't be here. _

"Leela? Is that you?"

No such luck.

Lars stepped into the hallway, half-smiling and half-anxious as he reached out to take her coat.

"Leela!"

She stumbled a little, falling into his waiting arms. Leela let him hoist her up and help her to the couch, feeling that after all, she couldn't get much guiltier. She might even be going mad, because just for a second there . . .

"Leela!", he'd said, and her name had split in the middle, tilting up at the end, just like it did when Fry said it.

She shook her head to clear it, and tried to focus on Lars. Her husband. Oh, god, this wasn't going to be easy.

She pushed his hand away as he tried to feel her forehead, and forced herself to look at him. She loved Lars. She owed him the truth.

"Lars . . . we need to talk."

Lars dropped his hand, frowning at her.

"Okay . . ."

"There's something I have to tell you. I did something horrible, I . . ." Oh what the hell. She might as well just come out and say it. "I slept with somebody else."

"What?"

"I had sex with someone else."

She loved Lars, but he could be a little slow on the uptake. For a long minute he just stared at her, as though struggling to put two and two together, but then his expression cleared slightly and became resigned.

"Was it Zapp Brannigan again? It was Zapp Brannigan, wasn't it?"

"No! Anyway, that was a one-time thing. The planet was at stake, for crying out loud."

"And this time it wasn't?"

"No."

"Oh. Okay. Just checking."

Leela reached for his hand, which he let her take, unresisting.

"Look, it was . . . it was a moment of madness, I can't even explain it. I'm a horrible person. This is what happens when I decide to be impulsive - things go horribly, horribly wrong. Not that that's an excuse." Leela stared at her boots. "You must hate me," she said miserably.

"Hey – no! I could never hate you. I love you, Leela." Lars squeezed her hand, his eyes wide and earnest as he searched her face. "I could never hate you," he said again. "I waited so long for you . . . for _this . . . _I'd be crazy to give it up now." He squeezed her hand more tightly, suddenly serious. "But I need to know what I did."

"What?"

"If I don't know what I did wrong, I can't fix it," Lars said.

"Lars . . . you didn't do anything wrong. You were perfect."

_Too perfect, _Leela thought bitterly. _You did everything you thought I wanted, before I realized I might not want it after all. _But she decided to keep this to herself. That Lars was even willing to speak to her after what she'd done was more than she'd allowed herself to hope for – throwing this forgiveness back in his face might push even him to the brink.

But he was frowning, and for the first time he looked agitated.

"You can tell me," he insisted. "I can take it! But I have to know what happened, or I can't fix it."

"Lars-"

"I'd do anything for you. _Anything. _But I won't lose you! I can't lose you again, Leela . . ."

Leela moved closer, worried. "I'm right here."

Lars nodded distractedly. "Please, just tell me how I stuffed up. I'll put it right, I promise. But I'm not smart enough to figure it out on my own. You gotta help me out here."

Leela threw her hands up in frustration.

"Lars, _enough! _It was _me, _okay? It was my fault, _I _stuffed up! I don't even know why. Temporary insanity, maybe." She let out her breath in a huff. "I'm certainly not about to leave you for Fry, of all people."

The effect was Lars was sudden and unexpected. He had been beginning to relax – to look as if he believed her at last – but at Fry's name he froze, and a look of indescribable horror stole across his face.

"F- Fry?" he croaked.

Leela flushed. "What does it matter?" she said, a shade more defensively than she had a right to be, she knew.

When she reached out to reassure him, Lars jerked away from her, stumbling to his feet.

"I need to think. I need some time alone. I – I'm sorry, Leela." For a second it looked like he was going to say something else, but then he shook his head and hurried from the room, leaving Leela to stare after him, open-mouthed. By the time she recovered enough to shout after him, he was gone, and she was left feeling like the bottom had dropped out of her world.

Again.

* * *

><p>Dr Cahill hurried along the darkened corridor of the Head Museum, her high heels clacking on the tiled floor. Reaching the tiny office she shared with Lars Filmore, she slipped inside and flicked on the light.<p>

"Ow!"

There was a crash and a cry of pain as Lars - dazzled into wakefulness by the glare of the light - shot upwards and hit his head on a desk lamp. Cahill jumped.

"Oh, my goodness!" she trilled. "Lars! Are you alright? I'm so sorry! I didn't realize you were here! I forgot my keys and-" - she smacked herself playfully on the side of the head - "ditzy-witzy! I hope I didn't hurt you?"

Lars rubbed his temple, and shook his head.

"No," he said blearily. "I'm fine. Not your fault."

The busty blonde doctor frowned. She didn't spend much time at the Head Museum – her contract didn't actually require her to spend more than one day a week there in an advisory capacity – but she had come to like it. It was an easy ride, and she knew her presence (or perhaps more accurately, her cleavage) titallated the heads. She liked to feel she was doing her bit for the morale of Earth's forgotten heroes.

And she liked Lars. She liked his easy, irreverent manner. She liked the useless trivia he sprung on her at random. ("Hey, guess what else you can do with Torgo's Executive Powder!") She even liked the way he hated paperwork of any kind - which was unfortunate for him, as there was a lot of it in museum administration. Poor Lars had never gotten used to it. He'd procrastinate and doodle and get distracted playing minesweeper before eventually giving in and scrawling something unintelligible on the paper, then stuffing it into the chute. Nine times out of ten the report would get jammed and be accidentally incinerated. (Cahill received a lot of angry memos from the Central Bureaucracy as a result of this habit.) Really, she should never have given him the job, but he was undeniably good at the practical side of things, and he'd seemed so desperate at the interview that she couldn't help but be swayed.

(That, and the first time he'd met her he'd called her 'Dr Good'n'sexy' by accident, and she'd blushed like a schoolgirl. That had helped too.)

Yes, she liked Lars. She'd grown close to him over the years, even as her hopes their friendship might develop into something more had slowly faded away. She had flirted up a storm at first, but Lars hardly seemed to notice. He had attributed his complete lack of a love-life to "waiting for the right woman to come along" and Cahill had been beginning to suspect he was secretly gay when suddenly – bam! - he was dating some alien with purple hair and a penchant for martial arts, and before she knew it, he'd married her. From that day forth it had been Leela this and Leela that, until Cahill started to feel like she had married her herself. She knew everything about Turanga Leela, from her shoe size to how she liked her eggs in the morning. And she couldn't remember the last time Lars had let five minutes elapse without mentioning her.

Cahill pushed aside an empty pizza box and perched herself on the edge of her colleague's desk, frowning.

"Is everything alright?"

Lars buried his head in his hands. "Leela cheated on me," he mumbled. He raised his head again, anguished. "I _really _screwed up this time."

"Oh?" Cahill moved a little closer, batting her eyelashes and trying not to scream _"Ka-ching!" _at the top of her voice. "I'm sure that's not true," she said instead, rubbing his arm in reassurance. Lars seemed too sunk in despair to notice.

"No," he protested. "I did. I messed up, just like I always do. But I thought . . . I thought I was doing the right thing!" He shook his head. "I just wanted to make her happy. I was never supposed to come back! If I hadn't come back I could have told her the truth and no-one would've got hurt. But I had to go back for that stupid pizza, didn't I?"

Cahill blinked. She had gotten used to her co-worker's distracted manner and rambling logic over the years, but this was crazy, even by his standards. She smiled, masking her concern, and moved the arm-rubbing up a gear to a more sensual stroking.

"You seem tense," she purred. "How about a shoulder massage?"

"Nuh-uh." Lars shook his head, staring miserably at his keypad. "I thought I had no chance with her," he continued. "But she _already _loved Lars. It should've been so simple! Why wasn't it simple?"

Cahill frowned. She was pretty sure Lars had just referred to himself in the third person, which was a red flag for crazy no matter which medical school you went to. Oh well. Desperate times called for desperate measures. Cahill hiked her skirt up another inch and leaned forward, her mouth forming a sultry pout, perfume floating about her co-worker's head in a dizzying haze. She put on her most breathy, sensuous voice.

"Lars," she whispered. _"Let's have sex."_

Lars sighed distractedly, waving her away as though she had just offered him a cup of joe, not the chance to ravish her right there on his desk.

"I'm good thanks."

Cahill huffed. She crossed her arms, pushing her breasts a little higher.

Incredible. Leela, Leela, Leela. What did he do when he married her, gouge out his eyes?

(Maybe. She had eye enough for the both of them, after all.)

"Maybe Leela never loved Lars," the doctor said sharply. "Oops! I mean, you." She pretended to slap herself on the wrist. "Silly! Maybe she never loved _you._"

Lars scratched his cheek.

"You think?" He sighed. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I just saw what I wanted to see. But it wouldn't be as bad as thinking maybe she _did _love me, the other me, and if I hadn't . . . if I hadn't . . ."

He shook his head, too pained to continue.

"I don't know." He sighed. "I'm going for a walk to clear my head. Get a Slur – coff – er . . . juice, I guess. Can you hold the fort here?"

"Oh, sure. I have some research to do anyway. You just take as long as you need."

Cahill smiled reassuringly as she watched Lars leave. When he was safely out of view, she reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a handful of pamphlets. She pushed aside _Inappropriate Xeroxing and Electro-Gonorrhea - Who's Laughing Now? _and _Help! I'm Sexually Attracted To The Water Cooler!_ before she found what she was looking for - _Committing Your Co-Workers (Discount Rates!). _

Sighing, she began to read.


	19. Chapter 19

Leela scowled and jabbed her thumb into the intercom button again.

_Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz._

"I can do this all day, you know," she snapped. _"All day."_

_Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz. _

There was a beep and a sudden burst of static from the intercom. Then there was a breathy sigh and the blonde head of Dr Cahill appeared on the screen.

"Mrs Filmore," she said haughtily, "I've told you a hundred times. He isn't _here."_

"Bullcrap. Where else would he be? Let me in or I swear, I'll kick this door down!"

"It's reinforced steel. Be sensible."

Leela considered this, and then smiled brightly. "Okay. Just give me ten minutes and I'll get my spaceship. I can't promisethere won't be any lasting damage to the infrastructure, but under the circumstances, I think I'll take my chances."

"Mrs Filmore, please!"

"You'd better stand back, doctor."

"Stop this, you're being -"

"About half a building back."

"Alright, alright!" Cahill threw her hands up in despair. "Wait there, I'll buzz you in."

She cut the connection and vanished. When she opened the door to the Head Museum, looking harrassed, Leela brushed right past her and strode purposefully down the hall. About halfway down, she paused. Cahill sighed.

"It's this way."

Leela stared around the tiny office she was shown into. There were two desks here, and a clear divide between the two halves of the room. Cahill's half was tidy and efficient-looking, perfectly respectable, except where hints of girlishness showed through. (A can of hairspray on her desk, a pair of fluffy pink dice hanging from her computer screen, a Hunk of the Month calender on the wall.) The other half of the room – the half that belonged to Lars – looked as though a bomb had hit it. His desk was elbow-deep in crumpled paper and discarded gum wrappers, and when she sat down, more crackled beneath her boots. His computer screen was covered in sticky fingerprints too, where he'd tilted it to get a better view, and the home screen was a jumble of memos, reminding him to do everything from buy groceries, to change a head's H2OG solution, to celebrate his Minesweeper high score.

Leela sank into his chair, defeated.

"He's not here."

Cahill took shelter behind her own desk, and sniffed. "I did tell you."

The cyclops let this pass without comment.

"This place is a sty," she said instead. "What has he been _doing_?"

Cahill eyed her warily. "What do you mean?"

"This!" Leela gestured with one arm. "It's a mess. This isn't like Lars."

The doctor only laughed. "Of course it is. This is how it always looks. I gave up nagging him about it years ago. He says he likes it this way, and you know men! He can be so _stubborn_. I'm sure you've noticed."

Leela huffed. "I assure you," she said defensively, "my home does not look like this. You could eat your dinner off my toilet seat. If so inclined."

For the first time, Cahill looked genuinely interested. "He isn't like this at home?"

"No!"

"Oh." Cahill opened a pamphlet from a pile on her desk and began to read with new intensity. "Tell me, have you ever considered your husband might have split personality disorder?"

"What?"

Cahill looked up and met her gaze. For a moment she looked disarmingly professional.

"Last night your husband began referring to himself as two different people. Generally not a good sign, I think you'll agree."

"What? What did he say?"

Cahill waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, I don't know. Something about pizza. He wasn't very coherent. Although he had just discovered you were cheating on him, which may account for that."

Leela gaped at her. "He _told _you that?"

Cahill shrugged. "Of course. He was very upset, you know. He also turned down my sexual advances."

Leela frowned, resisting the urge to fiddle with the end of her ponytail, as she usually did when stressed. Her gaze was drawn irresistibly to the detritus on her husband's desk. Pictures. There were pictures _everywhere, _taped to the walls, the front of drawers, the hood of the lamp. Some of them made very little sense – a tacky postcard from the Museum of Space Travel, for example, depicting Mars before it was colonized, or a beermat for LoBrau, Bender's favorite beer. But the majority were of Leela herself. There she was poking around under the hood of his Hovercar, frowning in concentration. Asleep on the couch, drooling a little. Cuddling Nibbler, looking the softest she'd ever seen herself look. And there in the middle, an old one, one he must have taken from her own album, though she hardly remembered it. It was an Xmas Eve lock-in at Planet Express – she was wearing a lime-green paper hat, and she could see the palm tree in the background. The crew were all squashed together for a group picture, pressing their weight against the chimney guard in a bout of paranoia. The Professor and Hermes were untangling a batch of fairy lights. Zoidberg was hugging an unpulled cracker to his chest as if it were his firstborn child. Bender had one hand lying lazily against the chimney-guard, while the other arm snaked out of shot, presumably holding the camera. Amy was admiring a new watch on her wrist. Leela and Fry were on opposite sides of the mantelpiece, but with their arms stretched across the chimney guard, their fingers just touched. Behind Bender's head they had caught each other's eye, and were smiling. _Isn't this crazy? _Fry's smile seemed to say, and hers mirrored the feeling, but at that moment neither of them would have wanted to be anywhere else. How old was that picture? 3003? 3004? It felt like a lifetime ago.

She shook herself.

"Lars doesn't have any kind of disorder. I don't know what you're talking about. He gets a little . . . absent-minded . . . sometimes, but that's it."

Cahill laughed. "That's one way of putting it."

Leela narrowed her eye. "I don't think I've ever told you this before, but I really don't like you."

Cahill giggled, high and girlish. "Oh, stop."

"I mean it. Keep your hands off my husband, you hussy."

Cahill sighed. "Honey, I could have my hands all over your husband and it wouldn't make a difference. I doubt he'd even notice." She shot Leela a sharp look. "You know, the first time I met you, I didn't like you either. Oh, at first I thought it was the colossal eye or those unflattering stretch-pants that bothered me, but now I see, that wasn't it. It was Lars. He worships you, you know. It's the strangest thing."

Leela scowled. "Jealousy is an ugly emotion," she said stiffly. The eye remark had stung more than she wanted to let on.

The doctor, however, only laughed. "Oh," she said lightly, "that too, but that's not what I meant. No. What was really strange was that he never had eyes for anyone else. I mean, there were other women, more attractive women . . ." - she paused, carefully polishing her fingernails - "but he never showed any interest. But the moment he met you, he was like a different person. He flirted,he dated,hell, he even learned how to cook. A whole side of him he'd just packed up and put into storage - until the very _second _he met you. Don't you find that odd?"

Leela hesitated. The truth was, she didn't know all that much about Lars's life before he'd met her. He dismissed it as nothing worth talking about, and Leela was happy to leave it at that. She didn't want to hear about Lars's exes any more than she thought he'd want to hear about Sean or Adlai Atkins, or even Fry. (The only one she'd been unable to avoid filling him in on was Zapp Brannigan, but he'd taken that pretty well, really.) Still, she had always assumed there _were _exes.

"I . . ."

Cahill raised her eyebrows. "Do you believe in love at first sight? Because it took one corny line and a few late-night pizzas before I knew I was a goner. How about you?"

Leela frowned, trying to remember how she'd felt the first time she'd met Lars. Flattered, she supposed. Hopeful. She had wanted a date, she remembered that much, but in love? That was a _lot _more substantial. No. She hadn't really known she loved him until Xmas Eve, when she was huddled in an alley for the second time in her life, about to be gunned down by Santa Claus. She'd been terrified, on edge, but Lars had been comparatively relaxed. "We'll get through this," he'd said, and that had helped, though not enough to make her forget imminent death entirely. She'd been craning her neck, on the lookout for heat-seeking missiles, when he'd whispered in her ear : "But if we don't, this seems as good a time as any to ask you. Will you marry me?" And she'd laughed, the tension sunk like an iceberg, because, well, _what a way to take her mind off it_. That was the moment she'd known.

"What are you trying to say?"

Cahill pursed her lips. "Professionally speaking, I think you need to go talk to your husband ."

"And personally speaking?"

The doctor smiled brightly.

"It might not be a bad idea to go armed."


	20. Chapter 20

Leela toyed with her gun, drumming her fingers against the barrel in an attempt to calm her nerves.

She wasn't going to take it home with her. Of course not. She'd just taken it from her locker to . . . to hold. While she considered the possibility her husband was crazy.

Not for the first time, Leela cursed her own lack of imagination. Her excuses wouldn't have fooled Zoidberg, and her subconscious seemed to openly sneer at her as she checked the charge level on her firearm. _Fully loaded. Good._

"I'm not bringing the gun," she said aloud. She cleared her throat and tried again, aiming for a more assertive tone of voice.

"I'm not bringing the gun. Lars is _not crazy."_

Well, that sounded a little better. What did Doctor Cahill know, anyway? Sure, she held a medical degree and she was the last person to actually see Lars . . . but that didn't mean anything. Well, it didn't mean _much. _

She didn't know him like Leela did. Lars _couldn't_ be crazy.

Leela closed her eye, turning that statement over in her mind. Was it true, or was she just deluding herself? She cast her mind back, searching for clues, but she couldn't seem to think straight. Wherever she looked for suspicion, she just found . . . Lars. Her husband. She saw him on their wedding night, sick with food poisoning but insisting they'd get their first dance together – though he had to keep breaking off the waltz to throw up in punch bowls and in people's hats. She saw herself wake up gasping because she'd been snoring and he'd pinched her nose again – and she saw him laughing, pulling her down to kiss him even as she beat him with a pillow. Telling her she didn't look monster-y, picking her up before she could fall over her own boots in the morning . . .

Leela opened her eye. Her hands had stilled and she had her answer. Lars might be crazy, for all she knew - but he would never hurt her.

The cyclops stood up, crossed the Planet Express kitchen in two strides, and shoved the gun in the freezer, slamming the door shut before she could change her mind. To distract herself, she opened the fridge instead, running an idle eye over the contents. _Let's see_ . . . a stuffed sub that probably belonged to Hermes, a prepackaged salad she'd bought two days ago, three cans of Lo-Brau she might as well call Bender's (he'd drink them anyway), and a can of Slurm which could only be Fry's. Leela picked up the last and headed back to the table with it. She could take or leave Slurm usually (you developed that ability once you'd seen it squirted from the Slurm Queen's rear end) but the instant the thick sweet soda hit her tongue she felt herself relax.

The table was strewn with junk. Leela hadn't been to work in days, and it seemed no-one had bothered to clean up after themselves in her absence. She frowned. Didn't they have someone to do that? A janitor or something? Oh well. She'd remember later. She swept her arm out in front of her, clearing away some of the crap. A broken calculator, a pot of yellow nail polish, a pair of maracas . . . her hand fell upon something she'd never seen before, and she picked up.

It was a plastic cube, made up of rows of smaller cubes. Each one was a different color and rotated when she moved it, but beyond that, it didn't seem to do much. She was trying to open it up when she heard voices. Leela dropped the cube, horrified, and next thing she knew she was squashed inside a cupboard, covering her mouth with her hand so her breathing wouldn't give her away.

Hiding. She was actually hiding from Fry. Oh lord. This had to be a new low.

"Look," he snapped on the other side of the cupboard door, "can't you just give me a break? I don't want to be part of any stupid wedding anyway."

"Hey!" Amy spluttered, offended. "That's _my_ wedding you're talking about."

Bender's voice cut in. "And mine, meatbag."

"I hate weddings," Fry retorted. "Happy ever after, big whoop. I don't see why you have to get married anyway."

Amy folded her arms. "We didn't win the right to robosexual marriage so we could _not _get married, Fry."

"Yeah," Bender put in. "And the best part is, we won the right to marry, but not to a legally binding pre-nup. Now when we marry, I get half of Amy's assets! Neat, huh?"

There was a dull _thunk _as Amy swatted at him. "Shut up."

"Make me, baby."

"Ugh." Fry retched under his breath. "I need a Slurm." He reached for the can on the table and frowned at the lightness of it. "Hey – who's been drinking my Slurm? That was my last can!"

"Hmm." Amy took the can, and Bender zoomed one of his optics in on it. "Leela," they said together.

"That's her lipstick," Amy said, passing the can back. "She gets it at the _drugstore_."

At that moment, Leela wished she'd held onto the cube. She could have thrown it at Amy's head.

Instead she bit back her growl of annoyance and pressed her eye to the gap in the cupboard door - the better to spy on Fry, who was staring at the lipstick stain on his Slurm can like it might leap up and bite him. He rubbed at it with his thumb and Leela found herself following the slow, thoughtful motion, a hot flush creeping up her neck as she watched. She was mad at him, but she couldn't help remembering his hands on her breasts, in her hair, coming up to cup her cheek as he kissed her . . . She shut her eye, hard, and bit down on her tongue.

It was just lust. She could get it under control if she really tried.

She opened her eye just as Fry scowled and crumpled the can in his fist. Slurm spurted out over his fingers and when he prised them away from the can she saw blood. He yelped, sucking at the odd mixture as the can clattered to the floor.

"Schmeepers!" Amy shrieked. "What did you do? Here, let me help."

She jumped up and retrieved a towel, pressing it to his palm to stop the worst of the bleeding.

"And I thought I was clumsy . . . hey, hold still!"

The Martian girl dabbed at his hand, muttering under her breath. Leela couldn't understand the words, but whatever she was saying, it sounded pitying. Affectionate too. For one wild moment the cyclops wanted to push Amy away and clean Fry up herself. To hit him for being so stupid and kiss him for caring. _He's mine, _she thought fiercely. And he was. She thought about that first time they'd made love, down by the ship – how hard Fry had been shaking as he tried to get her out of her clothes. The way he'd kissed her in the ruins of Old New York, his heart beating underneath her hand. Even the rawness in his voice when he'd yelled at her. Leela had always known she had a jealous streak, but it was true – Fry belonged to her in a way he never would to Amy. He was _hers. _

_Woah, girl. Stop that. He's not yours. You're just getting jealous and possessive because you slept with him. It's probably an evolutionary thing, like marking your territory. No big deal. Just keep it to yourself until it goes away, and try not to put your boot in Amy's face every time she touches him. How hard can it be? _

"I'm not clumsy," Fry said moodily. "I'm mad at her."

Bender blew some smoke in his face, cackling as the redhead choked and spluttered.

"You mean _she's_ mad at _you_," he corrected.

"No!" Fry thumped the table with his fist. "I know what I meant, dagnabbit! I'm – ow! - mad at her. And don't ask me why."

"Why?"

"I said don't ask me!"

Bender shrugged. "Yeah, but that means you really want me to know."

"No it doesn't! Stop asking me."

"Ooh, you really, _really _want me to know! It's okay, you can tell Uncle Bender. Your secret's safe with me. Unless I decide to tell, or use it as blackmail at a later date. I can't be held accountable for that."

"I'm not telling you. Quit asking."

Amy dabbed at Fry's hand, looking sympathetic. "Yeah Bender, quit asking."

"Thanks, Amy."

"It's okay. You guys had a fight, right?"

Fry frowned. "I guess. I mean, I think so . . . hey! I said quit asking!"

"Sorry." Amy examined his hand. "Well, the bleeding's stopped."

"Thanks."

"No problem. So . . . you're not sure if she's mad at you?"

Fry groaned. He picked up the cube to distract himself, and started twisting the little squares at random. "I don't wanna talk about it. Can we just talk about your wedding or something? I'll pretend to care about flowers and junk, if you want."

Bender and Amy replied in unison. "Nope."

"Cake?" Fry suggested hopefully. "I could _really_ care about cake."

"Nope."

"Not gonna cut it."

"Crud." The delivery boy continued to pull at colored squares, wincing at the pain in his fingers. "Fine," he snapped. "I'm mad at her, and I'm pretty sure she's mad at me. I don't care. She's always mad at me for something. I should've known one day she'd be mad at me for just _being _there."

"Being where?"

"Anywhere! It doesn't matter. I get it wrong when I do what she wants and I stuff up even worse when I do what I want. I'm done." He threw the cube back on the table. _Done? _Leela thought. Done with what? Her? The conversation? The cube? All three, maybe. "I'll see you guys later."

Amy and Bender watched him go, then exchanged looks.

Amy sighed. "He told her he loves her again."

"He's stupid enough, that's for sure."

Amy bit her lip. "Maybe we should talk to him."

Bender seemed less concerned. He had picked up the cube, turning it over in his hand. The colors had come together, Leela saw with surprise, the same colored squares arranged on every side. How had Fry done that?

Bender seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"Neat," he said to himself.

Amy tapped her foot impatiently. "_Ben-_der."

"What? Oh, right. That." The robot waved a hand dismissively. "I've told him to knock it off a hundred times already. It's not my fault he's a sucker for punishment, is it? _You're a loser and she'll never love you. _I told him. Offered to clean out his ears too, but he didn't take me up on it."

"He won't hear you. He just keeps going back there to get hurt again." Amy sighed. "Poor guy."

"Yup. He's an idiot."

"_Everyone _in love is an idiot," Amy said thickly.

"I hear you. Hey . . . are you crying?"

The Martian girl sniffled. "No."

"Oh," Bender said awkwardly. "Well . .. you're leaking. You want me to touch up a seam for you? I could do that."

"No."

"Oh. Okay. Is this about whatisface?"

"_Kif."_

"Yeah, him. Want me to beat him up for you? I could do that too, if he's bothering you. Just say the word, sweetcheeks!"

"No!" Amy blinked back more tears, fighting to regain her composure. "He didn't do anything wrong, I'm just _thinking _about him. It's just . . . it's so sad, when one person loves more. That's all."

Bender laughed. "Yeah," he scoffed. "And it's even sadder when one person doesn't love at all." He gave an evil laugh. "You know, if Fry was a puppy, she'd have put him out of his misery by now." The robot mimed stomping and laughed even harder.

Amy watched him for a moment and then burst into tears. "_Like I stomped all over Kif's heart!_" she choked, and ran sobbing from the room.

Bender gaped after her. "Huh? Hey, come back baby! I didn't mean it!" He ran after her, his voice receding from Leela's hearing. "Aw, yeah . . . feel like bein' sensitive and stuff, baby . . . "

Free at last, the cyclops tumbled out of the cabinet and hobbled over to the nearest chair, massaging the cramp from her muscles. She could feel another headache building behind her eyeball.

And she was mad again.

_Oh, _she thought angrily, _so I'm the person who doesn't love at all, am I?_

She blinked.

_Well . . . yes, _another inner voice countered._ Aren't you? You're supposed to be. That's the whole point! _

Leela frowned, suddenly uncomfortable. Of course she didn't love Fry. There were at least a hundred things he'd have had to change about himself before she could even _think _about loving him. She'd started a list once, to idle away an especially long space flight. They'd hit a space cow at Number 97 ("that god-awful WC Fields impression") but the cyclops felt she'd hardly even scratched the surface, really. _Number 98, _she thought bitterly, _he's stubborn as a mule. _He had to go ahead and be mad at her, didn't he, before she'd even finished figuring out if she was really mad at him.

Well, she was mad at him now!

Leela was halfway home, grinding her teeth on the subway, when she realized she was still holding Fry's toy. She twisted it sharply, fragmenting the colors again, and thrust it into her pocket. She spent the rest of the ride home adding to the List until she calmed down.

Somewhere in the back of her mind Bender was calling her an idiot, but she ignored it.


	21. Chapter 21

Lars had been gone for a week.

He wasn't sleeping in his office anymore, and he hadn't showed up for work either. Leela tried to tell herself this was a good thing, given Dr Cahill's eagerness to get him into what she called "a really good facility", but she was starting to think that might not be such a bad idea after all. At least in the nuthouse she'd know where he was.

Then again, maybe Cahill had tipped him off. Maybe she was hiding him from her. _That's possible, right? _The doctor certainly had no love for Leela. And she had pretty much admitted to being in love with Lars herself. She might be pouring poison into his ears even now, trying to steal him away . . .

_No, _Leela told herself. _That's your paranoia talking. _

She could have called the NNYPD after 24 hours and reported him missing, but they'd see through it in a heartbeat. Leela knew her husband wasn't really missing, just avoiding her. He'd been sneaking in to eat and shower while she was at work, until she had stopped going out completely and taken up position by the front door, living on Slurm and instant coffee as she watched the street. Lars hadn't come near the place after that.

The longer he stayed away, the more the fight drained out of her. She comfort-ate disgusting quantities of pizza and ice-cream and burned them off relentlessly pacing the floor. She organized Lars's shirts by color and thread count and then threw them against the wall in a fit of anger. She stared out at the blank empty street from the blank empty house until night fell, and presented her with a blank empty bed.

It was almost impossible to sleep in that, so Leela wasn't surprised to wake up on the couch one day and find it dark already. The last thing she remembered was watching Linda and Morbo on the midday news. Her neck was bent at an angle, her stomach was growling, and to cap it all off there was a weird metallic taste in her mouth. Still, she felt better for the rest, and she couldn't deny she'd needed it. The cyclops forced herself up, grumbling. Food. That was a good idea. _And maybe a Slurm to wash it down. _

As she stood up her jacket slid off her and her boot caught on something snagged in the rug. She skidded and almost went flying, regaining her balance at the last possible second.

_Fry's stupid toy, _she realized, bending down to pick it up. She must have knocked it out of her coat pocket as she slept. Leela had always been a restless sleeper. She threw the cube onto the coffee table, yawning, and made her way to the kitchen. Once she had a frozen meal revolving in the microwave, she began to root through the fridge. _No Slurm, _she thought, shivering in the cool air . . . and then she froze. It had been chilly on the couch, sure, but before she fell asleep, she'd just been watching tv. She could have turned on the heat with a word if she'd wanted. It made no sense to go get her jacket.

The microwave dinged, but Leela ignored it. She hadn't got her jacket – someone had gotten it _for _her. Someone who thought she looked cold.

_Lars was here. _

She crept forward, nerves jangling . . . and there he was, straightening the cushions on the couch. The sight was so ridiculously ordinary she almost laughed.

Her heart was hammering and she realized to her dismay that she had absolutely no idea what to say to him. But Lars spared her the bother. When he saw her he froze, wearing an expression the guilty, nervous twin of her own.

"Uh . . . hi."

Leela bristled, despite herself. _"Hi? _You've been missing for a week, and _that's _what you say to me?"

Lars rubbed his neck awkwardly. "It sounded better than _'Honey, I'm home'. _Hi," he said again, like he was trying it out. "Yup. You know what I like about it? It covers all bases. No room for awkwardness. Like this. Hi." He gave her a little wave, smiling uncomfortably.

Leela stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head. When Lars was nervous he tended to talk a lot, cramming words into the silence like he needed a distraction. He usually let her do all the talking in company, to disguise this, but it was a habit that was harder to cover up when it was just the two of them.

"I think you just managed to make it awkward," she informed him – but gently. She had just got Lars back, she didn't want to scare him off again.

Lars grimaced. "I guess I did. Sorry." He sighed. "We need to talk, Leela. But first you should eat. You need to look after yourself better. You didn't even have lunch today."

"I was – hey, wait a minute. How do you know I didn't have lunch? Have you been spying on me?"

Lars raised his hands to pacify her. "No! Only a little. Just this afternoon. But I knew you'd be okay. I told Nibbler to look after you."

"He's a foot high."

"Well, yeah," Lars conceded, "but most of that foot is stomach. And speaking of, you should really eat something. I don't want you to face this on an empty stomach. You might go into shock or something, I don't know."

_You're leaving me. _The thought was like a punch in the guts, but what else could he mean? Leela nodded numbly and crossed to the kitchen. She returned a moment later and stood in the doorway, forcing down mouthfuls of lasagne as she studied her husband's face, searching for a hint he'd forgiven her, a suggestion he was angry with her . .. anything. She couldn't really see either. Mainly she was just picking up anxiety, which didn't make a whole lot of sense.

As she ate, Lars picked up the cube and began to toy with it. His fingers tugged at the little colored squares, but he looked a million miles away. Red, blue, white . . . as the sides took shape, Leela pushed a wad of pasta to the side of her mouth and risked a question.

"How did you do that?"

"Huh?" Lars blinked. He looked down. "What, this? It's just a Rubik's cube. I had one as a kid."

"Huh." Leela swallowed. "What does it do?"

"Nothing. Aside from this, I mean. It's just a toy. You never had them in the Orphanarium?"

"I've never even seen one," Leela admitted.

"Oh." Lars flicked a red square over. "Everyone had them when I was a kid. Must have been an Eighties thing."

Leela frowned, watching his brow furrow in concentration.

"You were a kid in the 2980's?" she said, confused. "You're not that young."

Lars froze, his fingers fumbling for the next square. He turned away quickly, but it was too late – Leela had already seen the look on his face.

She _knew _that look.

She did. She'd seen it a thousand times. It was Fry's look, the one that meant '_oh crap'. _By now, she'd seen it so many times, she could practically read his thoughts through it. (They went something like this : _Oh crap, what do I say? Lie. No, don't lie! You're not smart enough to think of a good one, and she's looking at you now. She's onto you! Tell her something! Like . . . a lie? Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap . . . .) _Fry wore that look when he'd forgotten to top up the fuel tank and they were drifting in hyperspace. He wore it when Bender had something stashed at the apartment and he'd only just figured out it was illegal. That look was as much Fry as the Slurm cans and the slouching. Hell, it was No. 17 on Leela's List.

And Lars was wearing it.

Her mouth was hanging open.

"But," she stuttered. "But . . ."

Her husband's eyes darted towards her again. "Oh," he said. "Crap."

She knew that too. The way he avoided looking at her, like a naughty child, when he was feeling guilty over something. The crooked little bump on his nose. The way he chewed his bottom lip when he was annoyed. _The way he babbles when he's nervous. _

The more she looked, the more she could see.

"Oh my . . but . . how? I don't . . . _how?"_

Even Leela wasn't sure if she was asking how her husband had turned into Fry, or how she hadn't noticed.

Not-Lars-After-All held up his hands defensively. "I can explain."

"You're _Fry."_

"I was going to tell you . . ."

"_You're Fry._"

"I'm really sorry."

"To hell with your sorrys!" Leela hurled her fork at the imposter's head. He gulped, and ducked just in time.

"Leela, I can exp-"

The only weapon she had left was her plate, but Leela saw no reason not to throw that too. So she did.

"What have you done with Lars? What did you do to my _husband?"_

The man who looked like her husband sighed, wiping tomato sauce off his forehead.

"Nothing," he said tiredly. "I'm right here. Leela . . . I _am _Lars. You married me."

"No."

Lars groaned. "You don't believe me?" He sighed. "Okay, I guess I deserve that. But what can I say to convince you?" He scratched his cheek, thinking. "You like your eggs sunny side up. You let Nibbler sleep in the bed when I'm not here. You never got your pilot's license. You spent your whole life looking for your parents, but now you've found them and sometimes you _still_ feel like you're looking for something. You told me that, remember? And I said I felt like that too, until-"

"Until you married me." Leela's mouth had gone dry. "Lars?" she whispered.

Her husband smiled nervously, and gave her that little wave again. "Hi."

"But . . . but . . . then, you're not Fry," she said, confused.

Lars grimaced. "I was." He hesitated and then took her hand with one of his own, the other coming up to cup her cheek. "Do you remember the first Xmas we ever spent together?" he said softly. "I got you that stupid parrot, and you saved my life, remember?" He smiled. "I was lonely, and you were lonely, but together, we were . . ."

"Lonely together." Leela finished the sentence automatically. "I remember," she whispered.

If she closed her eyes she could still see Fry standing in a boarded-up street, his hand in hers. Santa was about to blow them to smithereens, Fry was babbling about not seeing it coming . . . and then he'd looked up, and his face had changed_._ "Hey," he'd said. "We're under the mistletoe." And Leela had suddenly felt that if she was about to die, there were worse ways to go than kissing Fry.

Leela felt her face grow hot, and she yanked her hand away.

"You lied to me," she said hotly. "It was all a lie! Were you ever really Lars? How could you do this to me?"

"I didn't! I'm not Fry anymore," her husband protested. "I'm _Lars. _I'm still the same person you married. I just used to be someone else, that's all. Think of it like . .. oh, I don't know. Plastic surgery or something."

"This isn't even remotely the same thing," Leela retorted. "You haven't changed inside! You even-"

She touched her cheek, shaking her head. Fry had cupped her cheek just like that, when he'd told her he loved her. It was the same hand. He was the same _person. _

"I _have _changed," Lars argued, but Leela wasn't listening.

"This is just too weird," she muttered.

Lars at least had the decency to look guilty. "I know," he said, "and I'm really sorry, Leela. I never wanted to hurt you, but -"

"But you married me anyway," Leela snapped. She pushed him away, furious.

Lars stumbled. When he regained his balance, he held up his hands in defeat. "I guess I deserve that too. I'll . . . I'll leave you alone."

Leela folded her arms. "Yes. You do that," she said shortly.

Lars nodded. He made to leave, but hesitated at the door.

"I wanted you to be happy," he said sadly. "That's all I ever wanted."

Leela watched him go, stony-faced. Her head was spinning, and the room was spinning too, no matter how much air she tried to gasp down. She lurched to the sink just in time to avoid getting sick on her shoes. When her stomach was empty again she swilled her mouth out with water and sank to the floor.

"Nibbler?"

"Here," her pet said solemnly. He climbed into her lap, a warm familiar weight, and submitted to her stroking without protest. Gradually the dizziness subsided and the cyclops began to feel something like herself again.

". . . shock," Nibbler was saying. "To be expected . . ."

Leela nodded numbly and scratched him behind the ears. Her pet's antenna eye was twitching distractedly, almost as if he was scanning her. Then again, maybe he was just trying to sniff out a treat.

He cleared his throat warily. "Ah . . . Leela? Are you aware-"

But Leela wasn't listening.

"Did you know?"she interrupted. She'd just had a thought."Nibbler, you said something was wrong. You tried to tell me, weeks ago. I remember. Something wrong in the universe, you said . . ."

Nibbler wriggled uncomfortably in her lap. "No," he said glumly. "Would that I had known. As it is . . . two versions of Philip J Fry . . . one must be a duplicate. An unintended consequence of time-travel, most likely. There is much to consider here."

"Uh-huh." Leela dragged herself back to the couch, still cradling Nibbler in one arm.

They'd betrayed her, both of them. Fry _and _Lars. They were the same person. She hadn't yet got to caring about how, if she was honest - but that seemed to be Nibbler's main concern. The cyclops couldn't help but find this a little annoying.

"He lied to me," she reminded him. "If I wasn't so tired I'd kick his ass. Both his asses!" She groaned. "I need a drink. I can't get my head around this sober."

"You need rest," Nibbler corrected her. "I have been distracted. I should have been paying more attention, should have watched you more closely. You are human, after all. Have I learned nothing of your species? I was foolish. I should have been more observant, I should have-"

Leela yawned. "You _should _have a drink."

"No,"Nibbler said sharply.

He gripped her coat in his teeth, tugging it up to her chin, and then sat down square on her stomach, hindering her from getting up. When Leela tried to shake him off, he nipped her gently on the wrist.

"Rest."

Leela frowned. "I'm fine," she insisted. How could she possibly rest with this on her mind?

But she _was_ tired. Nibbler was right – she hadn't been looking after herself.

"I might have a touch of the flu," she admitted grudgingly. "But I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself."

She tickled Nibbler under the chin, one of his favorite spots, and let his rhythmic breathing soothe her to sleep.

When she began to snore, her pet opened one eye, and cautiously rolled onto his back. Leela's arm tightened on him unconsciously, and he sighed.

The human female sought reassurance and stability, even in her sleep. Nibbler was used to this - just as he was used to being misappropriated as a source of comfort. It was the Mighty One she truly longed for, but Leela would rather ignore the evidence of all her senses than admit to it. In unguarded moments, even her own body betrayed her, but still she would not see it, and he would not believe it . . .

If he had not been sworn not to interfere, Nibbler might have knocked their heads together. Humans. When he had been assigned to stand watch over the Mighty One, he had been informed that there were only two things he must keep in mind when dealing with humans. First, that they were more stupid than could generally be believed. And second, as Fiona had pityingly informed him ; _"They are more stupid when it comes to mating than you can possibly imagine." _It was true. There were precious few situations a human would not consider appropriate to mate in, as The Mighty One had proved in the Roswell incident. Over the intervening years, the rest of the crew had only served to further support this theory. (The Martian girl in particular.)

But the most staggering proof of their stupidity was that for a species so obsessed with sex, they frequently managed to forget what it was all _for. _

Nibbler chittered nervously. This was not going to end well.


	22. Chapter 22

Leela was dreaming.

In the dream, she was standing on the bridge of the Planet Express ship, staring out at the inky blackness of space.

"Why aren't we moving?" she demanded, wheeling round to face the cockpit. Bender was there, but he only laughed - which was to be expected, she supposed. Bender had never been accused of being helpful. "Alright," she groaned. "Let's get this show on the road, people. Fry-"

Lars was sitting in Fry's seat.

"Hey there," he said calmly.

"I . . . Lars? But . . . where's Fry?"

Her husband shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I can fly the ship."

"But . . . this is his _job_," Leela protested. "You can't just take his job."

Lars shrugged again. "He's not here. He went to leave you a message."

"You snooze, you lose," Bender interjected. "Let's go already!"

Leela shook her head. "No, that's not . . . hey, when did it get so dark? Where did all the stars go?"

Lars stared back at her. "Ask Fry," he said quietly. "This is pretty much all his fault."

But that didn't answer anything, and it was getting darker and darker. She should leave, should get them out of here before it was too late . . .

More stars flickered out and the darkness grew thicker, settling over the cockpit until all she could see was the faint glow from Bender's eyes.

"Leela? Leela?"

"Fry!"

Leela jolted, struggling to orient herself in the dark.

"Fry!" she shouted. "Fry? Where are you?"

The delivery boy's voice was faint, like an echo. He sounded scared, and lost.

"I don't know," he gasped. "Somewhere, I guess . . . Leela, you have to help me."

Leela stumbled blindly toward his voice. "How? How do I help you?"

But Fry wasn't listening.

"Leela!" he cried. "Did you see it? You saw it, right? My message? I spelled it out in really big letters so you'd get it. You know, like a STOP sign on a highway. You had to see it!"

He sounded so excited, so hopeful. It made his voice stronger, easier to find, but she still had no idea what he was talking about. There was a warm golden glow at her back, in the direction of the window, but Leela couldn't turn around now. The dream was starting to scare her, and she'd feel a lot better if she knew where Fry was. She had to figure this out, had to get them out of here. She was captain, after all. She had responsibilities. She was supposed to be in control.

"I don't know what you mean," she said loudly. "But keep talking, Fry. That's good, I can find you. As long as we're talking, I can find you."

"What? No! You have to look!"

"I'll look in a minute."

"No!" Fry sounded panicked now. "Now!" he yelled. "You have to look now! If you don't look now, you'll _never_ see it!"

"Never see what?" Leela snapped. She had just stubbed her toe. "I'm not in the mood to play games, Fry." As she rubbed at her bootcap, the ship grew darker, the warm glow fading at her back. She felt suddenly cold.

"Oh, nothing," Fry whispered. "Nothing at all . . ."

His voice faded and died, and then Leela found herself running, screaming his name as she fled into the bowels of the ship.

"Fry!" she screamed. "Fry!"

The echoes bounced back at her, empty of any other voice, and every corner she turned threw up another expanse of empty corridor. She felt sick with terror.

Oh god. He was lost, he was hurt, he was _dead . . . _

A door slid open ahead of her and she flung herself through it . . . only to find herself back in the cockpit. Bender's laugh had a sneering edge now, but Leela didn't care - because by the glow of his eyes, she could make out a familiar figure sitting in the co-pilot's chair.

"Fry!" she gasped. Overcome with relief, she threw her arms about his neck. She was shaking, she realized. But it was okay, because Fry was hugging her back, smiling against her skin, and he was unhurt. "You _idiot," _she berated him. "I thought I'd lost you! You were supposed to be here! Where _were _you?"

Fry rubbed her back awkwardly. "It's okay," he soothed. "I'd never leave you. You know that."

Maybe that was why she kissed him. Maybe it was that or cry.

"I'd never leave you," Fry promised as she kissed him, but his cheek grew scratchy against her own and the kiss changed, until suddenly, she was staring into another face.

"_I never did_," Lars whispered.

* * *

><p>Leela woke with a shuddering gasp. Her heart was racing, her skin slick with sweat.<p>

_It was just a dream, _she told herself. _Just a scary, surreal dream._

She sat up – and the nausea hit.

It would have been nice, she thought afterwards, to have had a little warning. To make it to the bathroom would have been great, though she would have settled for spewing on the carpet if she had to. As it was, she'd managed to projectile-vomit all over her boots and her pet.

Nibbler woke up with a squeal and shook himself instinctively, spattering her in sick before he realized what he'd done.

"Oh," he said, when he'd got his bearings. "Oh dear." He sniffed himself curiously. "Leela, this may be indelicate, but I seem to be covered in vomit. Is everything -?"

Leela wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Everything's fine," she said brusquely. It was true – the nausea was already fading. She tugged her boots off, grimacing. "I . . . I had a bad dream, that's all."

"Bad?" Nibbler followed her to the bathroom, frowning. "Bad in what way?"

Leela shook her head, swilling her mouth out with water. She put the plug in when she was done and filled the sink up to serve as a bath for Nibbler.

"It wasn't bad. Just creepy, that's all. I'm _creeped out_, by all this."

Nibbler rolled a lavender bath bomb across the floor with his nose. Leela picked it up obediently and plopped it into the sink. Her pet sniffed cautiously at the surface as it fizzed and splashed. He growled at a few bubbles, and then took a running jump, sending water cascading across the floor as he dived in.

"Your unease is understandable," he said after a moment. "It might explain your reaction, certainly."

Leela sighed. Nibbler's concern would have been more convincing if he hadn't been happily doing the backstroke with his eyes shut. He didn't look as if he cared too much _what _had caused her reaction.

"It was just so _vivid," _she explained, as she stepped into the shower herself. "It felt like I was really awake."

She had felt so terrified – a tearful, emotional mess. She could still remember the awful, gut-wrenching fear when she'd thought Fry was lost, and the relief that had washed over her when she found him safe. In the dream, it had been all she could think about. But that didn't make any sense. Why would she dream about being scared to lose Fry? Losing Fry was not the problem right now. If anything, she was suffering from an abundance of Fry. She could probably do with losing a Fry or two.

"Fry turned into Lars," she mumbled. "And all the stars went out. What a weird dream."

There was a splash and a squeak.

"You dreamed – hic! - _what?"_

Leela screamed. Her pet had just pushed open the shower door and was now glaring in at her, hiccuping lavender-scented bubbles. She groped hastily for a towel.

"Nibbler! You scared me half to death!"

"I apologize. But your dream, Leela. I must know. It may be of vital importance."

The cyclops sighed. "Not that again," she complained. "Look, I'm not dreaming about Fry because he's about to blow up the universe. My subconscious is just trying to tell me something, that's all. And it's pretty obvious what."

Nibbler nodded sagely. "You fear losing him."

Leela blinked. "No . . . I meant that Lars turning into Fry really freaked me out. I'm not afraid of losing Fry. As a matter of fact, I could probably do with losing Fry." She twisted her hair into a loose pony, squeezing it dry. "Who said anything about losing Fry?"

"I guessed. But your reaction would seem to suggest-"

"I didn't say I was afraid of losing Fry," Leela interrupted. "No-one's losing Fry."

She was still squeezing her hair out, though there was hardly any moisture left in it. Leela shook herself and stepped out of the shower.

"Let's stop talking about it."

* * *

><p>Leela picked her way through the streets of the mutant settlement, covering her nose and mouth with the sleeve of her jacket. She knew it was rude, but she couldn't help herself - the smell seemed to gotten so much worse down here lately. They must be pumping something really foul down from the surface. She made a mental note to ask her parents about it, in some way that wouldn't remind them they lived in a total craphole.<p>

On their doorstep she uncovered her nose and held her breath as she knocked, praying her mom would answer the door before she passed out. (Or barfed all over her boots, which was starting to feel like a real possibility.)

The cyclops felt her fists clench instinctively. Even after all these years, the indifference of the surface-dwellers still made her seethe. How could they let her parents live like this? How could they let _anyone _live like this? It was filthy, it was squalid, it was _inhumane_. And no-one cared.

"Leela? Oh, Leela!"

Munda's tentacles whipped around her daughter's waist and pulled her inside in an instant. The crushing hug continued for a lot longer than Leela had expected.

"Mom?" she managed, when she was set free at last. "Mom, are you okay? What's wrong? Is it the sewer? I knew it smelled worse down here-"

"What? No, honey, the sewer's just the same as always. I've just been so _worried. _I thought we'd hear from you sooner . . . Morris! Morris, get in here! It's _Leela!_"

A door down the hall opened and her father emerged, making desperate shushing motions. When he saw Leela he stopped immediately and started looking guilty instead.

"Leela! Princess! We were so worried about you! How are you doing?"

Leela blinked. "I . .. well, not so great, actually. That's what I was going to . . ." She frowned. "Wait, why have you been worried? What have you heard?"

Munda laid a tentacle comfortingly on her daughter's arm. "Honey," she said softly, "it's okay. We _know._"

"Know?" Leela blanched. "About everything?"

Her parents nodded.

"Oh my god."

Munda squeezed her hand. "I was a _little_ surprised."

Morris let out a hoot of laughter. "A little?"

Munda glared. "I only meant . . . sweetie, I thought things were going so well between you and Lars."

"You mean me and _Fry," _Leela snapped. "Who I only married because he tricked me into it! Hang on a minute, hold the phone. How do you guys know all this?"

Her parents exchanged nervous glances.

"Now, honey," her father began, "don't be angry -"

"Lars told you."

Munda patted her hand. "You mustn't be too harsh on him. He was very upset. But -"

"When?" Leela growled. "When was he here? And what makes him think he has the right to come down here and tell you I – I -"

Munda clicked her tongue impatiently. "Slept with Fry," she finished firmly. "Leela, precious, you're in your thirties. It's silly to be coy."

Morris nodded. "You cheated on your husband, with . . well, your husband, I guess. Are we disappointed in you? Sure, a little. But you can't bring it back up once you've flushed it, I always say. What's done is done. Besides, we always liked Fry. Whoever you choose, we'll know he loves you."

"And that's all that really matters," Munda added.

"Choose?" Leela said hotly. "Who said anything about choosing? Listen, it was a mistake. I never would have done it if I'd known the truth! And what in the _sewer _makes you think I want Fry? _Any_ Fry! That's just absurd."

"You did marry him, honey. Twice."

Morris raised a helpful hand. "Don't forget that time you married him in a parallel universe."

Munda nodded.

"Exactly. You married him _three _times. Call me old-fashioned, but I can't help thinking that means something."

"It doesn't mean a thing," Leela protested. "I don't know what happened the first time, but he definitely tricked me into the second. And that last one wasn't even me! It was another universe. Other me was a redhead_, _for crying out loud! She was obviously _completely_ irresponsible." Leela shook her head. "None of this matters. I would never have married Lars if I'd known the truth."

"Are you sure about that?"

Leela crossed her arms. "This is not my fault," she huffed. "How many times do I have to say it?"

"Oh? Not your fault, is it?" Munda arched her eyebrow. For a moment she looked horribly knowing. "Then I suppose you didn't enjoy being married to him at all?"

"That's not the point. I thought he was somebody else!"

"You knew who he was when you slept with him. The other him. _Fry-_Fry. Now, try telling me you didn't enjoy that!"

"I . . . Mom!"

"Don't you _mom_ me, missy. I've seen the way you look at that boy, when you think he's not looking. Frankly, I don't care to speculate."

Leela blushed crimson. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she said stolidly.

Morris was frowning. "Me either. What way? What are we talking about?"

"Nothing, Dad," Leela said hurriedly. "It's nothing."

"If you say so, sugarplum. But your mother does have a point. I mean, you marry Fry, you cheat on him with Fry -" - her father grinned nervously - "- you could say you have a type. Y'know. Fry."

"And that," her mother added fiercely, "is why anyone said _anything_ about choosing. Because like it or not, you're going to have to. You love Lars. You're hurt right now, but you still love him."

"You don't know that," Leela said weakly.

"Oh yes I do," Munda retorted. "I'm your mother. It's written all over your face. But you don't need two eyes either to see how much you want that boy."

Leela sighed. "I can't explain Fry. I can't even say I was drunk. It just happened, okay? He was yapping on about some stupid movie, and I just . . . he just . . . he can be so . . ."

She trailed off hopelessly. How could she explain it? She didn't understand it herself. Fry hadn't even been trying to impress her, let alone seduce her. One minute he was goofing around, the next she wanted him more than she could ever remember wanting anything. In that moment, everything else could have gone to hell so long as he was hers.

_And it did, _she told herself. _Remember that? _

It had been a mistake. Of course it had. Yet every time she thought about it her brain seemed to shut down, throwing flashbacks at her until she could feel him, see him, hear him, _taste_ him all over again, and suddenly some part of her wasn't so sure.

Leela chewed her lip distractedly.

"I could use a drink. Have you guys got any Slurm?"

Morris shook his head. "We don't get that down here. But the water gets pretty green down by Old Filthful, if you -"

"No! I mean, no thanks, Dad. I'm not that thirsty. It's just a little hot in here, that's all." The cyclops swallowed. "Um. What were we saying?"

Morris shrugged. "I'm not sure. You kinda took a detour. You sure you're okay, sweetie?"

"I'm _fine_, Dad. Totally fine. A-okay. Now let's change the subject."

"Uh-huh," Munda said shrewdly. _"_Mmm-_hmm_."

Leela glared. "Alright, fine!" she snapped. "It's not _so_ absurd to say I want Fry. But it's completely irrelevant. He's not a choice, Mom! He's _Fry_. He's not . . ."

She waved her hands, casting about for the right word.

"Dependable?" her mother offered. "Reliable? Financially solvent?"

"Exactly!"

"Mature?" Munda suggested. "Confident? Responsible?"

"Finally, you're seeing what I see."

Morris laughed. "Sometimes you two scare me." He leaned in close and nudged his daughter in the ribs, pretending to whisper. "Don't tell your mother, but I'm _still _not those things."

Munda rolled her eye. "Don't I know it! What am I always saying? _Don't shed your skin on the couch, Morris! _And does he listen? I tell you, I'm married to the biggest slob in the sewer."

Morris threw his hands up in self-defence.

"Hey, hey, hey! If you can't shed a little skin in your own home, where can you shed it?"

"You see what I have to put up with? Where is the logic in that, I ask you?"

Leela tugged absentmindedly at her wrist device, ignoring the question. Her parents' bickering usually made her smile, but today it was just giving her a headache. She cleared her throat.

"I, uh, feel a little funny. I'm gonna run to the bathroom. "

Munda nodded vaguely down the hall. "Oh. Sure, honey, go ahead. I just finished sweeping _somebody's_ toenail clippings outta the tub."

Morris made an indignant reply to this, but by then Leela was at the far end of the hall and had tuned out out of the conversation. She was so distracted, in fact, that when she passed the guest bedroom, she almost didn't see her husband asleep on the bed.

Almost.


	23. Chapter 23

**A / N : Happy New Year, everybody!  
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* * *

><p>Leela blinked, hard – but when she opened her eye again, Lars was still snoring in her parents' guest bedroom.<p>

The cyclops thought it over for a second. Then she shrugged.

What the hell. A sharp jab to the solar plexus ought to do it.

"I feel no guilt over this whatsoever," she told herself. "Heee-ya!"

The blow found its mark. Lars shot up, gasping, and clutched briefly at his head and throat, before he managed to orientate himself and noticed Leela.

"For the record," she snapped, "that felt pretty good."

"Uhhh . . ." Lars shook his head to clear it. "Leela!" he said blearily. "You're here! Honey, I'm so glad to see you . . ."

"Leela!" Morris shouted from behind her. "Don't go in – uh-oh."

Leela rounded on him.

"Uh-oh? Is that all you have to say for yourself? Uh-oh? _What is he doing here?"_

Morris held up his hands, cringing. "Sweetheart, I can explain . . ."

"How could you let him stay here? He lied to me, he -"

"I know, I know! But he had no place else to go! His boss wanted to throw him in the loony bin and he couldn't go home – you needed space! Where else _could_ he go? We couldn't just let him sleep on the streets." Morris spread his hands in a conciliatory fashion. "I mean," he stumbled, "we're talking about the _surface _here. Who knows what could've happened to him?"

Leela snorted. "Not you, that's for sure."

"Exactly!" Her father nodded fervently. "_Anything _could happen up there. To be honest, I was never 100 per cent about letting you live there. You'd be a lot safer in the sewer."

"Dad!" Leela wailed. "Stop fussing over me! I'm mad at you!"

"Oh. Sorry, honey. I'll try and be a less attentive parent."

Leela groaned. "Just . . . just give me a minute alone with my husband, please. Maybe stand outside and put your fingers in your ears." She rolled up her sleeves. "I don't want you to be disappointed in me when I beat the crap out of him."

Morris opened his mouth to object, but closed it again at the look on her face.

"Well, alright. You know best. But don't strain yourself! And mind the furniture. And . . . could you keep it down, maybe? The neighbors are really getting up my ass -"

"Dad!"

Morris threw his hands up in self-defence. "Alright, I'm gone! Sorry, honey. _Go fetal!_" he hissed at Lars, as he ducked out.

Leela scowled, but before she could say anything Lars held his hands up.

"You're right," he said.

"What?"

Lars sighed. "You have every right to be mad at me. And if you want to take it out on me physically, I completely understand. But don't be mad at your parents – they were just trying to help me out. They're good people."

Leela blinked. "I know they are," she retorted. "And you – you took advantage of them! How could you?"

Lars nodded. "I know. I'm not proud of it, but this was the one place I'd knew you'd come when you'd calmed down, and I needed to see you. I owe you the truth."

"Oh," Leela huffed. "I see. _Now _you owe me the truth!" She narrowed her eye. "Well what makes you think I want to hear it?"

Lars hesitated. "Uh . . . that's a good point." He scratched the stubble on his chin awkwardly. "I guess I was just hoping you would."

Leela hit the bedpost in frustration.

"That is so, so . . . _Fry_! It's such a Fry thing to say!"

"Sorry."

"I can't believe I never noticed it. All this time . . . you're him, and I never even noticed. What's wrong with me?"

"Um." Lars shifted his weight from one foot to the other, off-balance. "Was that a real question, or one of those phoney trick questions you already have the answer to?"

"A rhetorical question?"

"Yeah, those."

Leela sighed. "It was a real question. I just can't believe I didn't see it."

Lars reached out to touch her shoulder, but she flinched away and he pulled back. He sighed.

"Honestly, Leela . . . I don't know. I kept thinking you'd figure it out. Every time I couldn't shut my mouth in time and something dumb came out, I thought you'd got me for sure. I mean, I looked different and I sounded different, and I gave up Slurm and video games and all that stuff I knew bugged you, but I couldn't make myself any smarter." He stared at his shoes, glowing faintly green in the sewer. "I'm not smart. Hell, I'm the dumbest person I've ever met. I don't know how you didn't know."

Leela felt her heart twist uncomfortably. "I loved you," she said softly. "It didn't matter if your head was on another planet sometimes. It wasn't important, so long as it was a planet orbiting me." She took a deep breath and hardened her voice. "You've got five minutes to explain. It had better be good."

Lars nodded. "I never knew I was Lars," he said quickly. "You have to know, I never planned any of this. When I went back to my own time, I had no idea Lars was me. I thought he was just some putz you were in love with for some reason. You thought he was the best thing since sliced baloney, and I hated him." He laughed. "When I went back to the past, that was all I could think about. I hated Lars, and I hated the future. I hated my life, so when I turned up in the past again, I thought . . . why not stay?" He grimaced. "I didn't realize the other me was back in the future, not at first. But when he didn't show up, when I realized it was just me in Old New York . . . I figured he'd had time to think it through. To get back to you, somehow."

"Wait, wait!" Leela interrupted. "Hold it. What do you mean, the other you? How was there another you in the first place?"

"He went back in time for pizza."

"What?"

Lars shrugged. "I guess he was hungry. I told him it was stupid."

Leela gaped at him, half-forgotten memories shifting to the surface as she started to put it all together. "You were Fry's duplicate!" she gasped. "The one he told us about in the park, at his memorial. Bender said the duplicate lived 12 more years and then he killed him."

"Not exactly. I mean, Bender's right, I did spend 12 years there, and he did try and blow me to mush - but he didn't kill me." Lars flashed her a tired smile, running one hand across his throat and another over his head. "My hair, my larynx . . . it was a pretty badass explosion. But I lived, and when I looked up, I realized . . . I was Lars. _I was Lars_, and that meant that someday in the future, you were waiting for me to show up." He smiled again. "I couldn't let you down. So I froze myself. I made sure to unfreeze a couple years early though, so I had time to get it right."

Leela stared at him blankly. "Right?"

"Well, sure. I mean, I had a lot to learn. This was my one chance to be with you – to make you happy, like you deserved. I couldn't afford to stuff it up." Lars put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a pen. He started to click the top on and off absently, as though he wasn't aware he was doing it.

_Click. Click. Click. _The sound set Leela's teeth on edge.

"It was weird at first," Lars went on. "Watching your life and not being a part of it. Sometimes I'd see you on the news, or in the street. I wanted to talk to you so badly, but I knew I couldn't. You couldn't meet me yet, or it might stuff everything up. I wasn't going to mess with time again – no way. I had to make sure it all happened the way it was supposed to, so I didn't say anything." He stared into the distance, smiling faintly. "Sometimes I'd see _me, _and that was the weirdest thing – seeing stuff I remembered doing again from the outside. But it got better. _I_ got better, at being me, I mean. After a while, I wasn't Fry-pretending-to-be-Lars anymore – I really _was_ Lars. And then when we met that day at the Head Museum . . . everything was perfect, Leela."

He took a deep breath.

"When the other me – the younger me – disappeared, I hoped he wouldn't come back. But I guess in the back of my mind, I knew he would."

Leela mulled this over. "So when Fry showed up at his memorial . . ."

"I knew I could never tell either of you the truth. I'd have to stay Lars forever."

"That is _not _a good enough reason for lying!" Leela protested. "Admit it - you just didn't want me to know the truth, did you?"

"No!" Lars wrung his hands. "I mean . . . I didn't want to lie to you. But I was okay with being Lars forever. I _am _Lars," he said simply. "I know you don't believe me, but I'm not Fry anymore. So who would it help if I told the truth? I was never Fry to you. You didn't fall in love with the old me, and I wasn't him anymore, so what difference did it make?" He hesitated. "And Fry . . . he didn't deserve that. He couldn't stop loving you any more than I can. He'd do anything to win your heart. He just didn't get the time I did to figure out how."

Leela absorbed this. "By pretending to be someone else," she said flatly. "That's how you won my heart, Lars. By lying to me! You've been lying to me since the day we met! You might not think it matters, but it does – it matters to me. I trusted you. And now I have all these feelings about Fry and you, and I don't know what's real or what came first . . . ."

Lars chewed the inside of his cheek. "But . . . I came first," he said slowly. "Right?"

"Oh, sure," Leela said bitterly. "Which you?"

"Me-me. Lars-me. I came first."

Leela didn't answer.

Lars watched her for a few minutes, waiting for a reply, and then something she'd said earlier seemed to filter through at last, and shock flickered across his features.

"You have feelings about Fry?"

Leela shook her head, bemused. "What?"

"You have feelings," Lars repeated. "Fry feelings. You just said so."

Leela colored. "I. . ."

But Lars was warming to the topic now, his brain shifting into gear. "Before, when you said you slept with him, you said it was impulsive and weird and horrible-"

"It wasn't horrible," Leela interrupted. "It was a horrible _decision_, but it wasn't horrible."

Lars gaped at her. Then he sat down heavily on the bed. "Oh."

Leela felt her cheeks burn. "I didn't mean it like-" she began, but Lars interrupted her, holding up a hand.

"Stop," he said wearily. "I'm thinking something, and I think it's important, but I . . . I need a minute to put it together."

He frowned intently, kneading his forehead.

"Okay," he said at last. "It's like this. When you said you slept with Fry, and you didn't know why, I felt bad. I thought it was me, that even if you didn't know I used to be him, it had messed with your head somehow, with your . . . your . . ."

"Subconscious."

"Right, that. I thought it was my fault."

"It _was."_

"I know. I thought that too. But then I got to thinking some more, and now I'm not so sure."

Lars had started to fiddle with his pen again, twisting it between his fingers as he thought.

"You never talk about him," he said quietly. "Every time I tried to talk about him, you'd just change the subject. And you stayed at Planet Express, all this time."

"So? I like it there."

"Why?" Lars shot back. "It's not the Professor or Zoidberg you're staying for, and you and Bender hardly talk anymore."

"Of course we don't," Leela snorted. "What are we going to talk about? The only thing we ever had in common was-" She pulled up short.

"Fry." Lars finished the sentence for her. He sounded tired. "Leela . . ."

"What?"

"Do you . . ." He stopped, shook his head, and tried again. "Did you . . . if we weren't . . ." He shut his eyes and finished the question like that, as if that might make it hurt less. "Do you love him?"

The question hit her hard enough to make her dizzy.

"No," Leela said, annoyed. "Why does everyone keep _asking _that?"

Lars opened his eyes, searching her face.

"I don't know," he said at last. "Other people ask you that?"

Leela made a non-committal sound, hoping to downplay the admission.

But Lars persisted. "Who asks you that?"

_You. My mom. _The evidence was damning enough that Leela didn't want to give it. Over the last few weeks, everyone she cared most about had asked her pretty much the same thing. Amy and Nibbler had skated around the issue too, hovering over questions they'd eventually backed away from.

When she didn't answer, Lars sighed.

"Okay. But tell me something. You _have _to tell me this." He took a deep breath. "Did I have a chance with you?"

"What?"

"Did I have a shot? I mean, before I went back to the past." Lars was fidgeting with his pen again, getting agitated. "I had no chance, right? I was right about that? You didn't . . . you didn't have feelings for me back then?"

"No! Of course not."

Leela's denial was a little too quick. She felt her cheeks burn, her pulse jumping like she'd been caught in a lie.

She _was_ lying, she realized. Oh, god. She was lying.

Leela sat down beside her husband, but she couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye. Instead she found herself staring at a patch of mold on the wall, pretending to be captivated by it.

"There were _some_ feelings," she said carefully.

Her heartrate slowed, and muscles she hadn't even known were tensed loosened up a little.

It was just a shame she felt like throwing up again now.

"You had feelings for me?"

Lars sounded incredulous. Leela didn't really blame him. She couldn't believe what she'd just admitted either.

"Since when?"

"Huh?" Leela shook her head, trying to gather her thoughts. "Oh . . . I . . . uh . . . "

There was a long pause, and Leela realized she was thinking about Fry in the ruins of Old New York, telling her he didn't know anything about the future but she obviously did, so she should just go ahead and give him the career chip. She was thinking about the look on his face.

"You know," she said weakly, "I can't really . . . uh . . ."

She tailed off.

"You're staring at me," she said uncertainly. "What? What's wrong?"

Lars coughed. "Nothing."

He looked like he was about to say something else – like he was wrestling with another major question – but Leela cut him off quickly.

"Good," she said, standing up. She couldn't handle any more uncomfortable revelations, not for a few days at least.

For a second she thought Lars might argue. It would have been a first for him, and Leela wasn't sure how she might react to it. But she was spared having to find out when her stomach gave an unsettled lurch. She swayed slightly, bile rising in her throat, and Lars jumped up, instantly concerned.

"Leela? Are you okay?"

Leela shook him off, embarrassed. "I'm fine. It's the air down here. They must be pumping in something toxic, I don't know. I'll feel better on the surface."

"But you're sick, you can't go. I mean," Lars floundered, "I could come home and look after you."

"No."

"I mean, we don't have to – I just – you're sick. You look sick. Are you sure-?"

"_No," _Leela repeated, more forcefully this time. "I'm _fine._ And I don't want you to come home. Thank you."

Lars deflated. "Okay."

"I don't want you to stay here either."

"I won't."

Leela nodded. "Okay then."

They held each other's gaze for a long moment, both at a loss for what to say next.

Leela turned away first.


	24. Chapter 24

By Monday morning, she was still feeling like crap.

Leela rolled out of bed and stuck her head out the window, sucking down lungfuls of air in attempt to settle her stomach. Unfortunately this was New New York, and the air reeked of robot exhaust fumes and garbage. It didn't help.

She could call in sick, Leela thought. They probably didn't even have a delivery today. Who'd miss her?

The cyclops mulled it over as she poured herself a glass of water and hunted for the anti-flu. Eventually she gave in and hit the speed-dial on the kitchen phone. The call motif flashed a few times and then the screen lit up, showing her the conference room at Planet Express.

"Good morning, this is Dr Zoidberg, very important person in the running of this business-"

Leela groaned. "Zoidberg, put on someone who actually matters."

It should have been impossible for someone with that many face tendrils to pout, but Zoidberg came remarkably close. He scuttled off-camera when he caught Leela's glare however, and a few seconds later Amy skipped in.

"Hi, Leela!" she said brightly. "Yowzers! You look awful."

"Thanks, Amy."

"No problem!" the Martian girl chirped. "So what's up?"

Leela shrugged. "I'm calling in sick," she said. "Because I look awful, obviously. I think it's the flu."

"I'm a doctor, you know!" Zoidberg warbled off-screen. They both ignored him.

"Did we have a delivery?" Leela asked. "Am I missing anything?"

"Nope. Oh, hey snookums!" Amy waved vigorously at someone Leela couldn't see. A second later she heard Bender's voice.

"D'aww, don't call me that! Not in _public_! What did I say?"

Amy giggled. "Shut up baby, you love it."

"That's my line!"

Her friends began kissing enthusiastically. Leela sighed, slouching in her seat as she waited for the PDA to end, and then Fry entered her field of vision, and her stomach flipped. He was making gagging noises at Amy and Bender. Leela told herself it was that which was responsible for the sudden surge of nausea she felt at the sight of him. It wasn't Fry who was making her insides writhe like snakes, it was just that throwing-up jokes were too close to the mark when she felt so lousy. Yeah. That was it. It must be.

Fry knocked his head against the table a few times as Amy and Bender started getting handsy, then turned his attention to the screen.

"Who are you talking t - oh. Hey, Leela."

Leela nodded awkwardly. "Hi, Fry."

They stared at each other. Everything was supposed to be normal between them, Leela knew, but she couldn't seem to fake it, not even to throw the others off the scent. They'd been doing a pretty good job avoiding each other. How long had it been since she'd had to interact with Fry one-on-one? A week? Two weeks?

Leela was suddenly acutely aware of how bad she must look. Her hair was sweaty after a sleepless night, she wasn't wearing any lipstick, and she had the mother of all eye-bags underneath one bloodshot eye. Great.

"I'm calling in sick," she explained.

Fry nodded vaguely. His eyes were roaming over her in an unfocused way, lingering on her lips and boobs, and Leela realized with a jolt that he was thinking about her naked. She didn't really know how he was managing it when she looked like crap and was wearing an outsize old t-shirt instead of a nightgown, but it didn't seem to matter all that much to him. Leela tried to decide if this was flattering or incredibly annoying.

It came out about even, with a side helping of 'a really bad idea'.

"Fry."

"Uh-huh . . ."

"_Fry."_

"Huh?"

Leela sighed. If he kept this up the rest of the crew were bound to figure it out.

"Aren't you supposed to be mad at me?" she reminded him.

Fry blinked. "Huh . . . oh, yeah. Mad."

There was a long silence while Fry tried to summon up the appropriate feeling and Leela tried to figure out _what_ to feel. It lasted quite a while, until someone else dropped a word into it.

"Spleesh," Amy said, frowning. "What did you two _do _to each other?"

"Nothing," they said together, too quickly.

Amy loosened her grip on Bender's torso and narrowed her eyes.

"Okay. What's going on? You're acting like you slept together or something, it's weird."

Bender laughed. "Yeah, right," he said, clapping Fry on the back. "He wishes."

Amy's gaze hovered on Leela's stricken expression, and then on Fry, who was opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish, panicking. Her eyes widened.

"No . . . no way! But what about Lars?"

"We're . . . having some problems," Leela admitted weakly.

The refrigerator door slammed and a second later Hermes appeared, a manwich in one hand.

"Leela slept with Fry!" Amy squeaked.

Fry made a kind of gurgling sound, his cheeks burning as bright as his hair.

Hermes merely shrugged.

"You all act like I'm de only one who watches de security footage in dis place," he said, offhand. "Actually, I've been meaning to talk to you two about dat. Sex at work is a big no-no, people! I'm finin' you bot' fifty dollars. Let's say no more about it."

Leela felt herself unfreeze.

"Security footage," she said numbly. "Security footage from the . . . ship . . . oh god. Oh, _god._"

Fry was slowly sinking under the rim of the table. Leela didn't blame him.

"We have security cameras," she mumbled. "How could I forget that?"

Amy sniggered. "You forgot you were married," she pointed out.

"You forgot you were boning Fry, the world's lousiest lover."

Underneath the table, Fry moaned.

"Shut up, Bender. All of you, shut up."

Hermes took another bite of his sandwich. "You forgot lots of stuff."

Leela shut her eye, fighting a queasiness she was sure had nothing to do with the flu.

"I'm trying to forget we ever had this conversation," she said, with as much dignity as she could muster when Bender was sniggering over her every word. "And now I'm calling in sick, and I'm putting down the phone. Fry, don't tell them _anything_. Got it?"

Fry nodded. The tip of one orange spike of hair bobbed up and down anyway, which Leela took for a nod.

Bender grinned. "So-ooo . . . security tapes, huh? Hey Hermes, where'd you keep those?"

"Same place dey always are. In de filin' cabinet marked 'Security Tapes', where anyone can get at dem."

Fry shot up and lunged at Bender. Amy shrieked as they crashed to the floor and rolled away, wrestling furiously. Bender had one exomatic arm wrapped around Fry's torso, pinning his arms to his sides, but just as he started to laugh, the delivery boy delivered a roundhouse kick Leela would have been proud of herself, and Bender's head flew off and rolled under the ship. His headless body released Fry and began staggering around blind as the rest of him hollered for help. Fry lurched toward the filing cabinet and triumphantly tugged out a tape.

Hermes coughed.

"It's dat one," he suggested helpfully, pointing at another halfway down the pile. "You're looking at 'Leela and Fry Steal Office Supplies'."

Leela watched Fry snatch up the right one and felt herself relax. While Hermes munched calmly on his sandwich and Amy rushed off to help Bender, she watched Fry shove the tape in his pocket.

"Thanks," she mouthed.

Fry smiled stiffly.

"Anytime," he said. He was still clutching at his side, trying to get his breath back, and he sounded a little hoarse. Leela had a sudden, ridiculous urge to smooth the creases out of his shirt, which made absolutely zero sense. She nodded quickly to cover it, and hung up the phone.


	25. Chapter 25

Leela's nausea receded sometime around midday, for which she was thankful. Maybe it wasn't the flu after all. She went through the freezer just in case, and threw out anything which looked like it might be going off. Then she risked a little dry toast and some Slurm, to keep her fluids up.

She padded through the empty house aimlessly, half-expecting the nausea to come back. She wasn't sure why she felt the need to keep moving - why she couldn't just sit down and watch daytime television like a normal person – but she felt restless and unsure, and it seemed to help.

The empty house felt almost creepy. It was funny, she thought dimly, how you could build a whole life around someone and then lose it so quickly. The house was still here, and all Lars's stuff, and it all seemed exactly the same. Which didn't make any sense, because surely it should look different, now that she knew it was all built on a lie.

And before she knew it she was searching, turning the house upside-down in a crazed hunt for proof of what she already knew. If Lars was really Fry then surely, _surely, _he'd left some evidence of it somewhere?

He was good, she had to give him that. It took her all afternoon to find what she was looking for, and in another time, before she knew, she might have overlooked it completely and dismissed it as just a box of junk. It was an old cookie jar, buried beneath a load of real junk in his desk drawer. Last year's tax returns, a fistful of old pens, some books about head maintenance . . . and a cookie jar full of junk. Leela opened it curiously. There were some printed-out pages of newspaper articles about a narwhal washed up in Old New York, and an ancient catcher's mitt encrusted with dust and what looked like soup. A fridge magnet saying _I'm With Stupid (On The Moon)._ A crumpled-up snapshot of Calculon, with a metallic gray thumb blurring the shot. And there at the bottom, a computer stick filled with ancient, low resolution video files.

Leela selected the first and hit play.

The resolution was awful, the picture grainy and yellowy, flickering every few seconds like it was about to shut off completely. It was ancient. Watching it, Leela was suddenly, disconcertingly aware of how far out of time Fry was. She was so used to him saying odd things or making off-handed references to the 20th Century that she didn't really think about it anymore. But a thousand years was _ancient. _It was another world, this overgrown back yard in Old New York, and she didn't recognize anyone in it.

Leela put on her monocle and leaned in more closely, scanning the faces for Fry. There was a middle-aged guy with dark hair in the center of the frame. He had a ramrod-straight bearing and incredibly precise crew cut, but his muscle was thickening into fat, and there was the beginning of a paunch creeping in around his gut. Still, he looked imposing – kinda like a drill sargeant. He was being saluted by a small, equally dark-haired boy, standing at the start of a makeshift obstacle course.

"Ready, son?" the man growled.

"Yes, sir!" the kid squeaked back. He pulled on an old-style military helmet and raised a small red flag.

"Alright then. First one to the end of the course wins a bag of potato chips, and the respect of your commanding officer, me. Got it?"

"Uh-huh, uh-huh!" The kid jumped up and down, squirming in excitement.

"Alright – hold on, soldier. Where's your brother?"

The camera wobbled, and a female voice sounded somewhere close at hand.

"Over here, honey. He's eating the lens cap. Philip, _spit that out! _Oh, for Pete's sake . . . that had better come out the other end."

Her husband shrugged. "I wouldn't count on it. Now Philip, you get over here."

Rather than wait for this order to be followed, however, he simply crossed the grass and picked up -

_Oh, my god, _Leela thought. _That's Fry._

The plump, red-headed baby was chewing on his fist, drooling like a tap. When his father set him down by his brother he toppled backward right away. Fortunately it didn't seem to do any lasting harm. He just babbled happily and started to chew one of his own feet.

His booties were blue with tiny red rocketships. The little detail jumped out at Leela and made her smile, despite herself. She had to admit, the baby was disarmingly cute. Leela could take or leave babies normally – it was animals in distress that really melted her heart – but she had a bizarre urge to coo over the baby Fry. Her face had turned strangely soft, and it took her a minute to realize the someone sighing wistfully was her. _What the hell? _She shook herself violently, and resolved to think about something weird and creepy instead, like how in a thousand years she'd be having sex with Fry, not cooing over his baby booties. That ought to do it.

On the video, Fry's father was telling him to straighten up, as the baby gurgled contentedly. When he blew the whistle Fry's brother shot off like a cork from a bottle, battling his way through a homemade tire course and a paddling pool full of mud as the woman off-camera screamed "_Yancy! Whooo! Come on Yancy, make Momma proud!" _

With their eyes glued to the course, Fry's parents couldn't see what the camera could – namely, that the baby had finally rolled over and begun to take an interest in Yancy's discarded can of cola. At first he seemed happy just to watch the shiny surface, but pretty soon it occurred to him to do with it what he did with everything. He put it in his mouth.

"Oh no," Leela whispered to herself, as though the people of a thousand years ago could hear her. "That's really not a good – oh, lord."

Fry's eyes snapped open, wide as coins, and he sat up straight for the first time. He sneezed, coughed a little, and began to vibrate with excitement.

Then the sugar kicked in.

A high-pitched, keening scream escaped him, like the whine of a rocket shooting straight into space, and Leela instinctively covered her eye.

"Oh, _god._"

By the time it was over everyone in the frame was covered in baby sick, Fry's mom was trying to get him out of a nearby tree, his dad was yelling about emergency protocol, and Yancy was screaming and stamping his feet, because he'd won the race and no-one cared.

Leela hit the stop button and stared again at the video files. There had to be fifty there, at least. Fifty segments of ancient video. Fifty snatches of Fry's life. Was it intrusive to watch them? Okay, so Lars had hidden them pretty well, which would suggest he didn't want her to see them . . . but on the other hand, Fry had never hidden anything from her. It was one of the things she'd always liked best about him. He was completely open. A little too open, sometimes – he could really benefit from ending his stories his sentence earlier – but always, _always_ open. And Lars wasn't. Was that her fault? Had she done that? Leela had a sudden flashback to Fry's hurt face, desperate to know why loving her wasn't enough, and realized she wasn't sure. She wasn't sure of anything, anymore.

She decided to watch the videos.

The early ones weren't so bad. Some of them were funny, like the ice-fishing trip where Fry got smacked around by a fish, and Yancy laughed so hard he fell through the ice. Some of them were cute, like the one with Fry in hospital for the first time, drawing superheroes on his plaster cast. But as he got older, it started unravelling. Yancy graduated. Fry didn't. After that he appeared in the videos a lot less. Mainly he showed up in the background, watching tv or asleep on the couch. The last video this Fry appeared in was some kind of Xmas party. He was tugging at Michelle's elbow, trying to divert her attention from the blond hunk on her other side. Eventually he gave up and slumped in his seat, nursing his beer with a despondent expression. Leela couldn't help feeling sorry for him. Part of her wanted to nag past-Fry into being more pro-active (_Dump Michelle! Get a decent job! For crying out loud!) _but another part wanted to yank him out of that party and tell him about all the crazy things they'd have done by the _next_ Xmas, just to see his goofy, Stupid-Ages excitement.

She sighed, hit play on the next file . . . and sat up straight, staring.

The video wasn't important. Fry was kneeling on the bare boards of a tiny one-room apartment, building a fort out of red aluminum cans. He was being watched by a small mongrel dog, which looked as though it could really use a bath. It was lapping up spilled cola, stopping occasionally to lick Fry's sticky fingers. Off-camera, Yancy was laughing : "You are _such_ a nerd."

But . . . it was _her Fry. _

Leela stared at him, wondering if the people of the past really couldn't see it. He was . . . well, okay, he was pretty much the same, but the difference was . . . the difference was . . . now that she thought about it, Leela wasn't sure _what_ the difference was. But there was one. There was a Fry who'd never met her and a Fry who had, and Leela could tell them apart instinctively. It was like the difference between a dead length of wire and a gently humming electric fence. Like he was broadcasting something on a frequency only she could hear.

Leela traced the outline of his face on the screen. She had a horrible, sinking feeling.

She'd been such an idiot. That sense of instant connection was exactly what she'd felt with Lars. The 'oh, _there _you are' feeling. And she had thought it must be love, when really it was just Fry.

Which was not the same thing, obviously.

_Uh._

The confusion was too much to deal with, so Leela pushed it to the back of her mind. She'd been putting a lot of stuff there lately. Like the part of her that felt sick and crappy, and was knocking like crazy for her attention. Or the part that felt hollowed out and alone, and told her she'd feel a lot better if Lars was here. Or the part which felt empty and restless, and wanted to be back in that moment when Fry kissed her, when her heart ached and her mind was a perfect blank, and she couldn't remember why it was wrong. She'd had to push that one to the back of her mind and stomp on it a few times to stop it swimming back up.

Watching this stuff was starting to hurt, but she couldn't seem to stop. She hit play again.

At first she thought something was obstructing the lens. The screen was dark and someone she couldn't see was giggling and making the camera lurch up and down. Then her eye adjusted, and Leela realized two things – first, that the lens was fine, it was just that the lights were out, and second – _more importantly – _that it was a girl giggling. A _girl_.

A girl. A dark room. A video camera.

The jealousy rose like bile in her throat. Now she really wanted to stop watching, but her hand wouldn't obey her. It wouldn't _move. _

Blond hair fell briefly against the screen, and a voice that sounded like Fry whispered : "This is a weird date, huh?"

"I don't mind," the girl whispered back. "It's fun. I feel like I'm part of your family."

The other person laughed, and Leela's breath left her in a sudden _whoosh _of relief. It was Yancy laughing. It wasn't Fry she was watching at all. She unfroze, and laughed unsteadily.

There was the sound of a key fumbling in the lock, the lights clicked on, and a room full of people yelled _"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"_

Fry rubbed his eyes blearily as the camera panned up to a homemade banner – HAPPY 26th BIRTHDAY PHILIP! - and then back down to him.

He was drunk. Leela noticed right away, but it seemed to take the party guests a little longer to work it out. They crowded around him, clapping him on the back. Fry swayed drunkenly with each blow. His eyes were completely out of focus.

"'m not," he mumbled incoherently. "'s not . . ."

Yancy shouldered his way through the crowd and grabbed his brother's elbow. He threw an apologetic glance back at the camera and grabbed Fry's elbow, holding him upright and pretending to smile as he muttered furiously into his ear. Fry looked like he was trying to argue, but Yancy ignored him.

" . . . _seriously, what is with you lately . . . _Hey everyone! Well, I guess Phil had a couple _other_ surprise parties to attend before he got here, am I right? Don't worry, he – what?"

"_Get off!" _Fry struggled free at last. "Don't worry," he gasped, "I'm not gonna ruin the party or anything, but I think . . . I think you guys should . . . ask for your money back. 's all a lie, see?"

"No-one paid anything, doofus. And what's a lie? What are you talking about?"

"All of it!" Fry snapped. He pointed at the banner. "I'm not 26! I'm not _Philip_!And since when am I _happy_? It's garbage. It's all garbage. It's . . . it's . . ." He swayed on the spot, and then he doubled over and gagged. When he straightened up again, he was crying.

The blond girl pushed through the crowd and grabbed one of his arms, the camera pressing into the fabric of his jacket as he slumped against her. Yancy must have taken his other arm, because when the camera swung into focus again the three of them were in another room, and Yancy was helping his brother into bed. He looked lost.

". . . don't know what's wrong with him," he was saying. "He's been really weird lately."

"What's he saying?" the girl asked. The scene swung sideways as she dumped the camcorder on Fry's bedside table.

"I dunno . . . something about a bender, I think." Yancy forced a laugh. "Yeah, like we couldn't figure that one out. We know, Phil! You went on a bender! Sheesh. He really picks his moments, I'm telling you."

"No," Fry mumbled from the bed. "Said I . . . _miss . . . _Bender. And – and . . ." He hiccupped, trying to scrub away the tears even as his eyelids began to droop. "Leela . . . miss Leela most . . want . . . go home now . . ."

He started to snore.

"Who's Leela?" Yancy's date whispered.

He shrugged. "Never heard of her. He's drunk. I don't think he knows what he's saying." He dropped his gaze self-consciously. "Listen, uh . . . thanks. For tonight. You were really . . . I'm sorry my brother's such a moron . . . I, uh, meant this to be a lot more fun. I'm really sorry."

"It's okay." From this angle, Leela couldn't see the expression on the girl's face, but her voice was tender. "You know you're _really_ part of the family when someone's kid brother pukes on you," she joked.

Yancy started to groan, but stopped short when she leaned over and kissed him. She kissed him again at the sight of his dazed expression, and then she took his hand.

"Come on," she whispered, and she led him from the room.

With no-one to stop the tape, it ran on unheeded. Fry slept while the sounds of the party wound down in the next room. He woke up at one stage, puked into his pillow case, and pushed it over the side of the bed. Then he stared up at the ceiling, groaned, and buried his head in his hands.

When he started to cry, Leela stopped the video. Her hand was shaking so badly she skipped a few minutes into the next file. At first she thought this was what had disoriented her, but no . . . Fry had jumped a few years in age, that was what felt so strange. There were frown lines on his forehead and his eyes were noticeably more serious.

Still, at least he was sober this time around. He was wearing frayed jeans and a faded New York City Zoo sweatshirt, and was leaning on the edge of what looked like a big fish tank.

"Hey girl," he called cheerfully. "C'mon . . . come get the fish. I know you're hungry. Come say hi to my brother and his girlfriend."

He threw an apologetic glance at the camera.

"She's not normally this shy, I swear."

"Yeah, right," Yancy's voice scoffed. "Anyway, Phil . . ."

"Oh, right, you wanted to axe me something," Fry said vaguely. He leaned a chair against the side of the tank and stood on it, straining precariously over the edge. "Come on girl . . ."

"_Ask _you something," Yancy snapped.

"Yeah, that. That's what I said." Fry wobbled dangerously. "Oh, I know!"

He beckoned to someone off-camera, and Yancy's blonde girlfriend came into view. She looked older too, and had changed her hair. As she moved closer the sunlight sparkled off a diamond on her finger.

"Hey, Lana," Fry called, in an exaggerated indifferent tone, "Leelu doesn't wanna talk to me. Mind if I talk to you?"

Lana smiled indulgently. "Sure. Hi, Philip. How are you today?"

"I'm good," Fry told her, in the same tone. "I ate a whole pound of mackerel for lunch. It was _great."_

Something in the pool whined unhappily. Fry pretended not to hear. He grinned.

"So anyway, how's my brother's prettiest ever girlfriend, who is, by the way, _way _too good for him?"

"Dumbass!" Yancy called, but Fry just laughed, and Lana shot the camera a quelling look.

"I'm good," she said peaceably. "I'm great, actually. That's kind of the reason we came down today. We wanted to tell you something."

The way she was talking to him was weird. It was the kind of voice you would use on a beloved family pet you didn't want to spook.

Fry frowned.

"I thought you came to see all the stuff I taught Leelu?"

Lana shook her head. "No-oo . . ." she said slowly.

"She can do a double backflip now."

"That's really great – we'll have to get that on tape, right, Yancy?"

"Oh, yeah," Yancy muttered. He gave the whistle universally recognized as meaning "cuckoo" under his breath.

Fry smiled. "You should. You could show it at dinner parties. Dinner parties are a thing you guys do, right?"

Lana nodded. "Yeah, they are. We're having one this weekend actually. To celebrate."

"Celebrate wha-?" Fry cut himself off mid-sentence, because Lana had just thrust her engagement ring-encrusted hand under his nose. "Oh," he said limply.

"We're getting married, Philip."

"Oh."

"What do you think about that?"

"Um . . . oh, yeah. Uh, congratulations, I guess."

There was a sudden _thunk _and the viewpoint dropped to waist height. Yancy had slammed the camera abruptly onto a picnic bench.

"Gee," he said sourly. "Don't knock yourself out, Phil."

"I'm not," Fry protested. "I'm happy."

"Yeah, you look real happy."

A narwhal – which could only be Leelu – swam up and begun butting her head against the side of the tank. Fry dipped his hand into the water and let her bump up against his fingers.

"I am happy," he said blankly. "I'm happy for you."

"I've seen you get more excited about that stupid narwhal-" Yancy began angrily, but Lana interrupted him. She laid a hand gently on Fry's arm.

"I'm not sure happy for us is the same as happy," she said quietly.

She crossed to Yancy.

"Let me talk to him," she whispered. "See if I can't figure out what's going on."

"Good luck with that," Yancy snapped, but he kissed her on the cheek and backed off obediently.

Fry was staring blankly at the ground when Lana returned to him. She sat down beside him and tapped the glass, smiling.

"She's really beautiful."

The narwhal made a happy crooning sound, and Fry smiled back.

"Thanks," he said. "I know Yancy thinks it's weird I spend so much time here, but if he got to know Leelu, he'd see for himself how great she is. She's smart and she's strong, and she's really funny too. I always feel better when I'm around her."

Lana nodded. "Well, she's doing great. I remember seeing her on the Late Cute Animal News – she looked so small, I thought she'd die for sure. You did a really great job with her." She hesitated. "Yancy just worries about you," she said. "You're his little brother, Phil, and I don't think he knows where your head is anymore."

Fry made a non-committal sound, and Lana sighed.

"Okay," she said. "Then I'll just have to ask you straight up. What is it about me and Yancy that makes you so uncomfortable?"

"I'm not-"

"Yes, you _are. _And I know you like me, so I know it's not Yancy's taste that's the problem. But I know you don't _like _like me either, so it's not jealousy that's causing this."

Fry chewed his cheek awkwardly.

"I like you," he said. "And you're great with Yancy. I'm not jealous like that – at least, I don't think I am."

"Okay," Lana said delicately. "Well . . . have you thought about dating again? I know it didn't go so well the last few times, but maybe-"

"No."

There was another awkward pause.

"I heard Michelle got married."

"Oh, man." Fry groaned. "Did Yancy tell you that? Jeez. Look," he said, "this is not about Michelle. Okay?"

He climbed up on the side of the tank again, and the narwhal jumped up to meet him.

"Hey, girl," he mumbled. He put his arms around her neck, crushing her in a hug. Leela couldn't see his face from this angle, and the rest of his speech came out sounding muffled.

"Look," he said quickly. "There was this woman I used to know and she was really beautiful, and smart, and she could kick _anyone's _ass, probably even the Incredible Hulk . . . and anyway, basically . . . I loved her. Like, really loved her. But she didn't feel the same way. I kept thinking maybe she would. Maybe one day I'd find the perfect way to show her how I felt. But I never did, and she never did, and then she found someone she really loved, and she married him. And I never saw her again. So can we drop it, please?"

Lana seemed stunned. Leela didn't blame her. Telling the story quickly hadn't robbed it of its impact, and clearly it hadn't made it any less painful to tell. But the things Fry had said hadn't hurt as much as the one, achingly obvious thing he hadn't. _I still love her. _It was written all over his face.

A thousand years in the past, his brother's fiancée didn't seem to know what to say.

"Does Yancy know any of this?" she asked at last.

Fry shook his head. "He just thinks I'm going loopy. It kinda runs in the family." He looked up. "Please don't tell him the truth. I'll come to the wedding, and I'll do better at being happy, I promise. Just don't tell him."

Lana sighed.

"You know, he's really worried about you – when he's not mad because he thinks you don't care. He feels like you changed overnight. I won't tell him," she said. "But I wish you'd talk to him, or somebody, about getting over this girl."

"I can't."

Lana groaned. "What am I supposed to do with you, Phil? Honestly."

Fry shrugged. "You could stay and help me with Leelu, if you want. I'm teaching her to predict the World Series, like that turtle in Peru."

Lana shook her head – possibly at the idiocy of this statement, but more likely in simple resignation.

"I'd better go talk Yancy down," she said. "You start work on that best man speech, alright?"

"Yeah."

Lana wandered off, and Fry turned his attention back to the narwhal. Predicting the World Series might be beyond the animal's capabilities, but she seemed to have no problem picking up on his sudden depression. She keened softly, nuzzling up to him as Fry rubbed her nose.

Leela ended the video.

She hadn't expected this. She had thought her feelings would become easier as more of her questions were answered, but they were only becoming more confusing. And the last thing she had expected was the effect Fry's pain would have on her. At every fresh hint of his unhappiness something tightened painfully in her chest, and she momentarily lost her focus. It was horrible. The little spasms were making it hard to keep watching, and yet . . . they were what kept her watching, at the same time. Seeing him so miserable hurt, but every time she clicked on a new video and saw some evidence he still missed her, still thought about her . . . then some tiny personal terror seemed to ebb away and she felt herself relax.

_I'm a horrible person, _she thought.

Even this thought wasn't as punishing as it ought to be though, because deep down she knew she'd rather be a horrible person and be right than be a good person and be _wrong_.

_I'm a big fat hypocrite, _she realized,_ but as long as Fry still loves me, I'm completely okay with that._

_Oh, wow. I really am horrible. _

Leela groaned. It seemed like she'd gone looking for answers about Lars, and wound up learning more than she wanted to know about herself.

It was discomfiting, but she carried on watching. She had to. She had the vague idea that watching this stuff was like getting a round of inoculations – something unpleasant but necessary, so she might as well suck it up and get the whole thing over with.

The next few years of Fry's life weren't so bad. Leela sped through Yancy's drunken bachelor party, a house-warming, an anniversary party for Fry's parents and a whole pile of zoo-related stuff. Cook-outs and sports fixtures were a regular theme, and while it was still obvious he and Yancy were falling out a lot, Fry was doing better at 'being happy', as he'd put it. But he was changing too. He hung back a lot, gauging the mood before he started to talk, instead of just saying the first thing which came into his head. Seeing him recorded on a phone or a camcorder made it especially clear. The way Fry behaved when he knew he was being watched, and the way he acted when he forgot the camera was still rolling, were worlds apart sometimes.

As time went on he stopped making slip-ups. There were no more accidental references to Nixon or Morbo. He slowed down, became more thoughtful – which made sense, because he had to be careful all the time now. But thinking had never been Fry's strong suit, and it was starting to take its toll on him. He developed a blank look Leela had noticed a lot in Lars, and he often seemed exhausted in company, or like he was struggling to stay present. It didn't really surprise her. How much pretending must he have been doing, at this point in his life? Pretending he hadn't been away for eight years, pretending he was Yancy's little brother (even though he was actually older than him now), pretending he hadn't seen the future, pretending he hadn't been in love, pretending he didn't feel completely trapped, when he must do, because he had seen the universe and his crummy time couldn't even access the Moon on a regular basis . . . it made Leela's head hurt just thinking about it.

The next big event was a christening party. Of course! Leela had been so absorbed in the elements of Fry's life she didn't know about, she'd forgotten the things she did. And she knew that Yancy had a baby, who would one day be the first Earthican on Mars. Fry must have known it too. How . . . weird.

He still managed to show up late for the party though, which was just typical.

The celebrations were in full swing when he appeared in the open doorway. He was wearing his old red jacket over a lime green Mexico City Zoo t-shirt, and there was a big stuffed animal under his arm. Leela didn't see what it was right away because the camera dipped in shock as the person holding it did a double-take.

"Phil?" Yancy exclaimed incredulously.

"Hey."

They hugged briefly, and the camera swung back up, revealing Fry's soft toy to be (of course) a narwhal.

Fry's dad appeared and clapped him awkwardly on the shoulder.

"Son," he said stiffly.

Fry nodded. "Sir."

"It's good to see you home again."

"It's good to be home," Fry said. He held out the narwhal to Yancy. "This is for you. I didn't know what you're supposed to get for a baby, but I thought this was pretty neat."

Yancy took the toy, but cuffed his brother around the ear as he did so.

"What gives, Phil? I tell you Lana's pregnant and you disappear to Mexico for six months? I needed you! With the baby on her side, it's two against one - I'm outnumbered here! I went cross town for donuts at three in the morning. _Six times_. And you don't even wanna know about birthing classes. Trust me. You don't." He shuddered. "You owe me an explanation, big time."

Fry shrugged uncomfortably. "I told you – Leelu came up for that marine animal tour and I really wanted to go."

"Uh, no. I told you and then you _signed up_ for the stupid tour!"

Fry avoided his eye. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm just not good with that stuff. Really not good. If I'd stayed it would've got screwed up somehow, and I wanted things to go the way they were supposed to. No complications or explosions or weird stuff like being your own gr- uh, I mean . .. you know. Being . . . in the wrong place at the wrong time. And stuff."

Yancy stared. "No. I have no idea what you're talking about. Literally, _no idea. _I think you're nuts, Phil."

His father snorted. "I second that opinion. Now quit jabbering and get the baby, son. You didn't even tell him yet."

"Oh, man! Yeah! Hold on – honey! Hey, honey, it's Phil . . ."

Yancy handed over the camera to their father and disappeared briefly – and then the camera zoomed in, and all Leela could see was Fry, staring down at the baby in his arms like he wasn't sure it was really there. He prodded it nervously, and it started to wail.

"Uh-oh . . . um, I didn't mean to do that. No, hey, stop . . ."

Yancy and his father laughed at him.

"That," Yancy declared, "is now the soundtrack to my life."

"How do I make him stop?" Fry asked anxiously.

"Search me! Hey, how did you know it was a boy? Oh, wait . . . the balloons. Duh. Sorry."

"Wha . . oh . . . yeah. The balloons," Fry said distractedly. He bounced the baby gently up and down, making whooshing spaceship sounds. Within about five seconds it had sicked up all over him - but it _had_ stopped crying.

Lana edged into shot, smiling. She gave Fry a one-armed hug and a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Sorry about the mess. He's not so good in social situations," she joked.

Yancy laughed. "And he throws up a lot. So you can see why there was really only one choice when it came to names. We called him Philip J Fry."

There was a long, long pause.

At last Fry grinned, but this didn't disguise the fact that he was tearing up.

"Yeah, right," he said thickly. "You just didn't want to give him your goofy name."

He lifted the baby up and kissed him.

"It's a good name," he said softly. "And one day I bet everyone's gonna remember it."

The baby burbled happily and Fry lowered him again, cradling him awkwardly in one arm as he reached into his jacket pocket.

"I have something for you," he went on. "It means a lot to me, but I want you to have it – so you'll always be safe, and lucky no matter what you do. It's a clover, see? And it's got seven leaves. That means it's got extra luck. Or it's a mutant, maybe. I dunno. Either way, it's pretty special."

He tucked it into the baby's blanket.

Yancy and his wife exchanged looks.

"You didn't have to do that," Yancy said quietly.

"I wanted to."

There was another quick exchange of looks – the kind of marital telepathy that had always freaked Leela out a little – and then Lana put her hand on Fry's arm.

"Are you doing okay?" she murmured.

"Sure."

"Sure?" Lana echoed uncertainly. "I don't know, Phil. You look . . . tired, I guess." She frowned. "Old. How did you get so old?"

Fry shrugged, and she sighed.

"I just . . . when people disappear without warning and they start giving away the things they care about . . . well, you know what they say that means."

Fry blinked. "No."

"It means . . . distancing yourself. Saying goodbye, if you know what I mean."

"We just want to know you're not planning something stupid," Yancy said uneasily. "That you're . . . staying put, now you're back."

"Don't be an idiot, son," Yancy Sr chipped in.

Fry stared from one person to another. He was probably just putting their meaning together in his head, but he was wearing that blank, unreadable expression she'd come to associate with Lars, and Leela didn't blame his family for feeling concerned.

Then he laughed.

"Guys, relax," he said. "I'm not going anywhere. Where would I go, anyway?"

Leela watched him tickle the baby, feeling deeply unsettled. As far as she could tell, Fry really had no idea what his family were hinting at. But she could already see Lars in him, which meant that one day soon, he was going to leave them. He was going to run off without thinking, and they were going to think . . .

Leela touched his face on the screen.

"Oh, Lars," she mumbled. "You idiot. You selfless, noble _idiot_."


	26. Chapter 26

**A / N : I know everyone would rather get on with the story than hear from me, but I want to take a minute here and say a _huge _thank you to everyone who's left me reviews on this. I love hearing your opinions and I think that this has more reviews than it does chapters is just nuts. Thank you all! **

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><p>Fry was hunting for mustard when he realized the distant thumping coming from the hangar wasn't a machine. When he pulled his head out of the refrigerator, a familiar voice floated up at him.<p>

"Ugh! Agh! _Hee-_yah!"

He took a bite of his hot-dog, paused for thought, then crossed to the railing of the conference room and peered down into the cargo bay.

Leela was down there, beating up a punchbag. She looked madder than he'd ever seen her.

Left fist, right fist, left again . . . undercut . . . she flipped head over heels and slammed both boots into the bag at head height.

Fry swung over the railings, dropped down, and caught the hot-dog deftly in one hand. He took another bite and chewed thoughtfully.

"Um . . . Leela?"

The cyclops didn't seem to hear him. She growled, sizing up the bag.

Fry moved closer.

"Leela?"

Leela's next blow sent the punchbag swinging right round on its cord. Next thing Fry knew a blinding pain hit him on the side of the head, and he went flying.

"Fry? Fry?"

He blinked muzzily and Leela swam into view. She was leaning over him, looking sweaty and out of breath. And concerned, but that registered last because from this angle, Fry was too distracted by her boobs.

" . . . didn't see you," she was saying. She helped him up. "Oh, lord. You're bleeding!"

There was something cold and sticky smeared across his face, but when Fry opened his mouth he tasted tomato, not blood.

"It's okay," he said. "It's ketchup. See?"

He held up a thumb for inspection. Leela tasted it gingerly, then relaxed. Then she said something else, but Fry wasn't really listening because she'd just licked his thumb and now all he wanted was to -

He kissed her.

His head was still ringing, but that didn't seem like such a bad thing when all he had to concentrate on was Leela. She was probably about to punch him on purpose any minute now, but she wasn't doing it _yet, _so he got to kiss her and feel her boobs, and pull her closer so that she was doing that thing with her hips he really liked. Her thighs hooked around his waist and then - _bam! - _he was flat on his back again and Leela was straddling him, kissing him so hard he thought his lungs might explode.

And then she was crying. One minute she was about to have sex with him, and the next she was crying, with her hand pressed over her mouth and a horrified expression on her face. And Fry was pretty sure he hadn't blacked out again in between.

"Um. L - Leela?"

"I . . ."

"Are you okay?" Fry asked carefully. His head still hurt. He had the feeling he was way, way out his depth here.

Leela moved off him and helped him sit up again.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she said helplessly. She wiped her eye, smearing mascara across her nose. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore, let alone why I'm doing it."

Fry shrugged. "I don't know what I'm doing most of the time. It's not so bad."

"It's awful," Leela said. "Every time I see you lately I'm trying to screw you or I'm _crying, _for Pete's sake!"

She pulled a kleenex out of her wrist device and blew her nose loudly.

"Do you know how much crying I've done over the past two weeks? It's insane! _I'm _insane."

"I don't think you're insane."

"Oh, Fry . . ." Her face crumpled again.

Fry reached for her before he could stop himself. He felt her melt against him, burying her face in his shoulder. It seemed to calm her down.

He thought for a second.

"Are there future diseases that can make you crazy?"

Leela groaned. "Fry, I'm not actually crazy. I'm just an emotional wreck."

There was a pause as Fry considered this, couldn't see the difference, and filed it away under 'confusing'.

"Oh," he said. "Okay. Well, I was just trying to help. Coz, you know, you were sick, and you taste kinda different today, so I thought maybe . . ."

Leela snorted in disbelief. "I taste what?"

Self-preservation kicked in and Fry back-pedalled, fast. "Um. No, not . . . not _bad _different! Just . . . funny. I dunno. Different-y." He stroked her hair, trying to hold onto his train of thought. "It's like . . sometimes you taste purple," he informed her. "Or angry."

This was hard enough to explain normally, but right now his head felt like it was floating a few inches above his body, and it was hard to think straight. He couldn't even think what the taste had been. He'd only caught it briefly ; something bright and dazzling, like a spring morning gone supernova. But there was no way he could explain that to Leela.

"Sometimes things get mixed up in my brain," he told her. "They go in the wrong way, I guess."

"Uh-huh."

Leela rolled her eye, and Fry realized she hadn't got it, that she had no clue kissing her set off a multi-sensory firework display in his head. He gave up, and struggled back to his original point. He'd had one, right? Oh, yeah . . .

"Anyway, I was just thinking about . . . you know . . . you and me. Maybe if you had, like, a brain slug or something, it would make you do thin-"

"That's not a brain slug," Leela interrupted.

"Wait, no, hear me out! I know you can't see it, but I figured that out too." He paused. "It's a brain slug _inside _your brain."

"It's not a brain slug, Fry!" Leela snapped. "For crying out loud, it's _you. _It's you!"

He felt her breath hitch.

"Oh . . ." she mumbled. "It is. It's not Lars. It's _you_."

Fry blinked, nonplussed. "What's me? What did I do?"

He was still trying to figure it out when Leela reached up and kissed him on the cheek.

"Fry?"

"Uh . . ."

"I'm sorry."

Fry shook his head to clear it. "Um . . . for what?"

Leela sighed. "I made a mess of everything," she said quietly.

She settled back against his chest. It felt nice. Fry still had no idea what she was talking about, but she didn't seem to be mad at him, so it couldn't be too bad.

"Do you remember that time you found me crying in the locker room?" she asked. "Before I found out who my parents were?"

Fry frowned. "Yeah."

Leela took a deep breath. "Do you remember what I said about feeling sad? About how I just keep it pent up inside and try not to think about it?"

"Yeah . . . "

"I still do that. With sadness, with things that confuse me . . . and with things that just _aren't __supposed to happen. _Are you following me?"

"No."

"You were a thing that wasn't supposed to happen."

"Why not?"

Fry interrupted without meaning to. He felt light-headed, like when the artificial gravity malfunctioned on the ship.

"Oh, right," he managed. "The married thing . . ."

Something in the sentence must have come out wrong though, because Leela sat up suddenly. She was staring at him, and when Leela stared at you, it was hard to notice anything else.

"Fry," she said sharply, "how many fingers am I holding up?"

Fry tried to focus.

"Um. Five?"

"Guess again, Einstein."

"Four? Three?"

Leela sighed. "I knew I hit you too hard. Alright, get up. I'm taking you home."

Getting up took some effort, but eventually Leela manouevered him into a standing position and took most of his weight. Fry had started to feel dizzy by now, but Leela seemed to be steering, so he just nuzzled into her shoulder and let his feet follow on automatic.

Leela was quiet as they stumbled down the sidewalk. New New York was unusually quiet too. The streets were empty, and a bright, nearly-full moon washed every window in white and cast deep, threatening shadows ahead of every apartment block. A cat yowled in an alley and was cut off as suddenly as if it had been swallowed whole. The only sounds Fry could hear were Leela's breathing and the scuffing of his sneakers as she dragged him along.

"I dreamed the world was ending yesterday," he said vaguely. "There were Terminators."

"Huh."

Leela seemed unimpressed. Fry toyed with the waistband on her jacket, breathing in the smell of her hair.

"You were there too," he mumbled.

Leela stopped trying to swat his hand away. "I was?"

She helped him into the elevator at the Robot Arms and punched in his floor number. Fry's hand had found its way inside her jacket now. Her tank top rode up under his fingers and his palm slid over the smooth, toned muscle of her waist. Leela gave a funny little shiver, but otherwise ignored him.

"What was I doing?" she asked.

"Blasting Terminators," Fry informed her. "You were pretty good."

Leela shrugged modestly. "That does sound like me."

Fry flashed her a lopsided grin. "You're pretty good at most things," he told her. "And _really _good at some things."

Leela reddened. She tugged his hand out of her jacket and tried to act nonchalant about it, but through the warm fog currently clouding his mind, Fry smiled.

Nonchalance was one of the things Leela really _wasn't _good at.

The elevator dinged and she sprang up, dragging him along with her. They made it down the hall somehow, and then they were in his apartment and Leela was talking to Bender, using that special tight voice she used when she was mad and pretending not to be.

". . . think he's concussed," she was saying. "You can let him sleep, but you have to wake him up every few hours to check on him. I want to be sure there's no long-term damage."

There was a pause as Leela and Bender both considered Fry. Leela sighed.

"Just do it anyway."

Bender shrugged. "Whatever you say, Adulterous Annie. Trombone okay?"

He pulled one from his compartment and sounded a blast so loud Fry fell over backwards.

"No!" Leela groaned. "That's it – I'm staying with him."

"Oho! Oh no you don't!" There was a metallic _clink _as Bender folded his arms. "You think I don't see what you're doing? You think I don't know how it starts?"

"What are you talking about?" Leela had her hands on her hips. She looked pissed, but Bender didn't seem to care.

"_I miss you, Fry"_, he mimicked. _"I hate it being awkward. Can't we just start over as friends?" _Oh, _sure. _And then before you know it, you two are boning and no-one bothers to keep me in the loop, oh no. Why tell Bender? It's not like _he_ needs to know . . ."

"You _don't_ need to know!" Leela snapped. "What Fry and I do together is none of your business."

Fry sighed. He'd been waving his arm in the air for five minutes now, but his friends hadn't noticed. He let it fall despondently and addressed the ceiling instead.

"I sure wish someone would help me up."

They ignored him.

"He's my buddy," Bender argued. "And buddy trumps sex buddy, so I win. Ha!"

"I don't think we're sex buddies," Fry offered vaguely.

"We're not," Leela said sharply.

"Oh. Okay. Uh, I guess you don't wanna help me up or anything . . . ?"

Bender laughed. "So it's a formal arrangement, huh? Is he paying you? Because that's nasty_."_

Muscles which had been sluggish before suddenly screamed into action, and Fry found himself on his feet again, struggling to hold Leela back.

"It's a joke, it's a joke!"

Bender sniggered. "Yeah, I'm just yanking your chain, eyeball."

Leela muttered something in which the words "kick his ass" were clearly audible, but she subsided in the end. Which was weird, Fry thought. Normally the cyclops wouldn't hesitate to take out someone who came between her and the target of an ass-whupping. But she was letting Fry hold onto her now, and she had gone all quiet and calm again, like he had magic sedatives in his skin or something.

"Fine," she said at last. "We'll both stay."

Bender sat down, looking petulant. "Fine."

"_Fine._"

"I'm okay with that," Fry said. Not that anyone had asked what he thought.

He sank gratefully back into the couch and shut his eyes. His head was starting to throb.

"I don't get it," he mumbled. "If you're so worried about me, why don't you just take me to the hospital?"

"You can't afford hospital," Leela told him. "You let your insurance policy lapse months ago, remember? And if I claim third-party injury one more time, I'll lose mine."

When Fry opened one eye, she looked defensive.

"I'm a one-eyed spaceship captain with poor depth perception and anger management issues. Let's not even go there."

Fry rubbed his head gingerly. "You are kinda dangerous to be around." He grinned. "So . . . this is like insurance fraud."

"No!" Leela scowled. "It's just a little creative budgeting, that's all."

"Sure."

"Look, I can't help it if I'm surrounded by jackasses just begging to kiss my boot. I just wish I didn't have to pay their medical costs afterward. You'd think punching Zapp Brannigan would count as some kind of humanitarian act, but apparently not."

"Uh-huh." Fry leaned back even further into the couch and swung his legs up, so his feet were resting in Leela's lap. If touching Leela had a magic calming effect on her right now, it was having the opposite effect on Fry. He felt drunk.

"Leela's committing insurance fraud . . ." he sang.

Leela swatted at him in a half-hearted kind of way. She hadn't made any attempt to move out from under him, Fry noticed. She merely shifted position slightly to make herself more comfortable, resting her arms lightly on his shins.

"You have gum on the bottom of your shoe," she said drily.

"I was wondering where that went . . ."

Fry grinned at her grossed-out expression, Leela reached out to swat his hand away from his shoe . . . and Bender interrupted.

"Knock it off, meatbags."

"What did I do?"

"You _know."_

Fry blinked, bewildered. "No . . . what?"

Bender looked uncomfortable. "Aw, jeez, do I have to say it . . ? Fine. Quit. _Flirting."_

"I'm not-" Fry began, but he stopped when he felt Leela shaking. She was doubled over, trying to cram her fist in her mouth so they wouldn't see her laughing. It was weird laughter too, more funny-we're-all-gonna-die than funny-haha.

"What's so funny?" he asked, but she only gasped incoherently.

"He's . . . right . . ." she spluttered. "We _are._ Sometimes I think I hit you just so I can touch you. And I never even . . ."

She shook her head, and Fry found himself mesmerized by her hair, whipping through the air in a violet arc. He put out a hand, tracing the after-images through the air.

Leela ran out of air and her laughter became a cough, then died away completely. When it did, her serious face came back.

"You're supposed to be resting, Fry."

"Huh?"

"You're supposed to be resting. So _rest."_

"But you never told me what was funny," Fry protested.

Leela smiled sadly. "It was only funny to me," she said.

She caught his hand as it floated aimlessly through the air and forced it down again.

"Look, just go to sleep for a while," she said. "That's not normally such a big ask for you. I need to talk to Bender."

"I'm not tired," Fry insisted.

Leela just shrugged. Her hand was resting on his chest, her fingers drawing light, impatient patterns on his t-shirt. He yawned before he could stop himself, and the corner of Leela's mouth twitched in a smile.

"Not tired . . ." he mumbled, but he shut his eyes obediently. Leela watched him for a while, but when he didn't open them again she seemed to figure he was asleep.

Her voice changed. Now she was using her captain's voice, the one that promised an ass-kicking for anyone who got on her bad side.

"_You_ _knew_," she said.

That voice had never worked well on Bender. He laughed.

"Everybody knows, eyeball. I mean, everyone except Captain Moron over there, obviously."

Leela tensed. "What do you mean, everyone knows? There wasn't anything _to _know, until -"

"Sheesh," Bender interrupted. "You could see it from space. You. Love. Him."

Him? Who was him? Fry frowned, trying to figure it out. Unless . . . him didn't mean . . . _him?_

Leela had gone perfectly still.

"How did you know?" she said quietly. "_I_ didn't even know, until tonight."

"So you're deluded. Who cares?" Bender lit up a cigar. "We had a book running on when you'd finally get it. I put fifty bucks on a deathbed realization."

"Mine or his?"

Leela's voice sounded like it was coming back to her from a long way away.

"Eh, either's good. Wanna know what everyone else thought?"

"Not really."

Bender exhaled slowly. "Amy had a hundred on 'when _he _marries someone else', Hermes is betting on your second divorce, and Zoidberg's holding out for a lobotomy. I can't remember what the Professor thought. I just took his money and ran."

"Why didn't you say something?" Leela demanded.

"Why would I? You don't really love him. I love that little meatbag more than you ever will."

Fry felt Leela's fists ball in the fabric of his shirt. She was shaking.

"How can you say that?"

"Easy," Bender snapped. "You only want him when you can't have him. When you think he's dying, or when you got nothin' else. You only want him if he _changes. _Well I like him just the way he is – a total chump. So you and your feelings can take a hike, lady. You can die miserable and alone, for all I care."

There was silence for a beat.

"Aw, no. Are you crying? Stop that. Stop it, I said! You're not gonna make me feel bad . . . I'm Bender. I don't do that."

Leela's tears crossed the line from silent to 'really, really loud'.

"Hey. Knock it off. Stop that! Aw, crap . . ."

Leela was crying ugly tears now, rocking back and forth as Bender hovered awkwardly. He was probably aware he'd crossed a line, but there was no way he'd ever say sorry. Bender didn't do sorry.

"Look," he bluffed, "you're reading way too much into this. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I mean, you might not die _totally _alone. You could have some cats in there. You're a cat person, right?"

When Leela broke into fresh, horrified wails, the robot backed off.

"Oy vey," he muttered. "I'm outta here. If anyone needs me, I'll be at the porno theater."

When the door slammed behind him, Fry opened his eyes. Leela was crying too hard to notice. She blew her nose on Fry's shirt as he watched her curiously.

"Damn," she whispered. "Damn. Damn. Damn. Son of a bitch!"

Then it dawned on her that Fry was awake, and she screamed.

"Fry! How long have you -? When did you -?" She pulled herself together. "I mean . . . you're awake. That's nice," she said limply.

Fry sat up carefully, gripping the back of the couch to steady himself. Leela frowned and tried to make him lie down again, but he ignored her. He still felt nauseous and the back of his head was pounding, but he found he was thinking pretty clearly all the same.

"Bender thinks you love me," he said.

Leela swallowed.

"Fry . . ." she said uneasily.

Fry kissed her.

Every other time this had happened, he had been too distracted by the fact that he was kissing Leela - and she was kissing him back, and not slapping him - to pay much attention to the _way_ she was kissing him back. And actually, it was pretty weird.

Weird Thing No. 1 : When he kissed her, Leela seemed to forget about everything else. Amy had said she must have forgotten she was married when she slept with Fry, and she'd been joking – but he was starting to think she might have a point. Leela really did forget things when he kissed her. She forget she was supposed to be guilty, or mad at him, or married. And it always took her a while to remember she wasn't supposed to be kissing him. Sometimes it took her a _long _while.

Weird Thing No. 2 : The way she kissed him didn't always match the way she acted. Sometimes it was like there was a whole other conversation happening between them in a different language. When he'd kissed her earlier – the hot-dog kiss – she'd looked really sorry she'd hit him, and he'd believed her . . . but she'd kissed him like she was mad. It didn't match up now either. She looked like she'd been about to say "Bender's wrong" or "I don't want to talk about it" . . . but she wasn't kissing him like that. She was kissing him like she was relieved. Like she was proud of him for something.

Like she was sad.

He pulled away, frowning.

"You _do_ love me."

Leela smiled weakly.

"Yes, Fry. I do. Though Lord knows why. You're an idiot."

She stroked his cheek and Fry relaxed a little.

"Then . . . then . . . why are you sad? Because I'm an idiot?"

Leela's smile faded away.

"No," she said bitterly. "Because _I _am."

Fry struggled with this. "I don't get it."

Leela took a deep breath. "You love me," she said. "But I didn't get it. I didn't trust it. You love me more than anyone else ever could, Fry, and I just didn't understand it. I thought you'd get bored, I thought you'd get distracted, I thought you'd screw up a relationship - though you probably would have, because let's face it, you're hopelessly immature . . . ."

Fry shrugged, conceding the point. Leela reined herself in.

"I didn't understand you," she said. "If I had, maybe we wouldn't be in this mess. But -" - she avoided his eye, embarrassed - "no-one's ever loved me like that. I didn't realize how much it mattered."

"I still don't get it," Fry said.

Leela sighed. "You will soon." She put her hand in his. "What would you do for me, Fry? To be with me, I mean."

That sounded like a trick question, but Fry doubted he was smart enough to spot the trick, so he answered honestly.

"I'd do anything."

"Like . . . lie to me?"

The question stung.

"No! I told you before, I'd never lie to you to get you to be with me. Or use drugs, coz they're for losers, and hypnosis is for losers with big weird eyebrows, and . . . oh." He reconsidered. "Okay. I guess not _anything. _There's some things I wouldn't do."

Leela nodded. "That's what I thought," she said. She was quiet for a beat.

"What would you do to make me happy?" she asked softly.

Fry thought about it, taking in her face. There was nothing he wouldn't do for Leela, he realized. He'd die for her – he'd known that for years, it was as easy as breathing. And he'd done some crazy things over the years, in the hopes she'd like them – like rearranging the stars, or chasing a parrot up a hundred-storey building. And it had been worth it just to see her smile, even for a second. Fry had been square with this pathetic, desperate side of himself for years now. He wasn't really bothered by it.

But watching her now, he realized it wasn't just crazy, stupid stuff he'd do for Leela. It could be dangerous too, like hacking into his own brain, or making the Robot Devil cut his hands off. That stuff had _hurt, _but he'd still done it. It was like there was this big hole in his head when it came to Leela, and even if he looked into it, he couldn't see the bottom. If he ever thought he couldn't get much more stupid or reckless or dangerous, he only had to think about Leela to find that stuff like common sense and self-preservation just vanished, sucked into the hole, and suddenly there was plenty more room in his head to be stupid.

"Anything," he said at last. "I'd do anything."

Leela smiled sadly.

"I know," she said. "You really are selfless, aren't you?"

She squeezed his hand, and let go.

"I just wish I'd figured that out before I married you."


	27. Chapter 27

**A / N : Time for a look inside Lars' head. You were curious, right?  
><strong>

**Also, kudos to wasabbi, who was the only person to pick up on all the hints I've been dropping about Leela. (The only person I know of, anyway.) Incentivize that reviewer!**

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><p>He'd forgotten where he was again.<p>

He was lying on cold tiles, and there was a pain in his neck. Not surprising really – it felt like he was using his shoes as a pillow. Why had that seemed like a good idea?

Lars groaned.

This wasn't the first time he'd woken up with no idea where he was. It was happening more and more lately. It wasn't that he was drunk, even – he was just temporally displaced in the few minutes before he became fully conscious. In that short space of time, he might be at home or at work or halfway across the solar system for all he knew. He felt like the only person on Earth not affected by gravity. Whatever kept other people anchored to the world just wasn't working on him anymore.

Leela would have helped. She always did. With her it didn't matter where he was, because wherever she was felt like the right place to be. But she wasn't here now – there was just that aching empty space in his chest which had always had her name on it.

_I miss you, Leela, _he thought dully.

He opened his eyes and cringed away from the strip lighting overhead. He could see the legs of a stool not far away and hear something bubbling nearby. The whole place reeked of burning rhesus monkey. Oh, right. That was it : he was on the floor of the Professor's lab. He sat up and tried to massage some feeling back into his joints. He was getting way too old to be couch-surfing, and this one had to be a new low. The Professor hadn't even let him sleep on the couch. He had only let Lars take the floor in exchange for a sample of his blood, which had fascinated him once Lars had explained who he really was. Apparently there was something interesting about being a time-travel duplicate. Lars couldn't see it himself, but if it secured him a bed for the night, he didn't really care.

_You should have made more friends in the future, _he thought. _I mean, come on. First your in-laws, now the Professor? Don't you think it's desperate you have nowhere else to go?_

Why hadn't he made more friends? (Or any, really, now that he thought about it.) He tried to remember, but all he could remember wanting was Leela. It hadn't seemed necessary to have anyone else, if he had her.

_I miss her, _he thought again. _I miss her. I miss her, I miss her, I miss her, I miss her . . . _

He was vaguely aware that he was getting stuck on this thought.

_I miss her. I miss her. I miss her. I miss her, I miss her, I miss her, I miss her, I miss her, I miss her, I want her, I need her, I miss her, I miss her, I want her, I need her, I miss her . . . _

Something smashed on the edge of his hearing, and Lars jumped. He checked his hands nervously but they were hanging innocently by his sides and there was nothing within reach, so it couldn't have been him.

"Hello?" he called carefully.

There was a small scuffling sound from under one of the workbenches. Lars grabbed a nearby blowtorch and held it out defensively, just in case it was a rabid rhesus monkey.

"Stop, stop!" a familiar voice cried. "Please, put the weapon down. I mean you no harm."

"Nibbler?"

His wife's pet stuck his head out of a tangled mess of wire, and Lars relaxed.

"Oh," he said. "Here, let me help."

Two turned out to be more efficient than one, and in under ten minutes Nibbler was free of the mess.

"Hello," he said gravely.

"Uh, hello. What's going on?" Lars asked. A hopeful thought struck him. "Is Leela here? Is she okay? Last time I saw her she didn't look so good, but that's probably my fault." He laughed wryly. "I keep springing nasty surprises on her."

Nibbler coughed.

"Indeed. Although it must be said that she has brought many on herself."

"I don't know about that. She never asked me to lie to her," Lars pointed out.

"No," Nibbler conceded. "But she has been less than honest with you in turn."

Lars frowned. He had the feeling Nibbler was goading him.

"I think she was pretty confused," he argued. "She wasn't _cheating _cheating. Even if it feels like that. It can't be. I mean . . . he _is_ me."

"An interesting point . . . but I was in fact referring to her insistence that she did not love you. Much might have been avoided if she had addressed this point earlier."

Lars stared. Working out Nibbler's response took a few minutes (he used a lot of big words for such a small creature) but eventually he got it.

"You think Leela loved me all along," he said numbly.

Lars had suggested this to her himself the last time they spoke, but he hardly knew why. The idea it didn't make any sense.

"That's impossible," he said. "If she loved me she would have said something. I was with her every day for eight years, and it's not like the subject never came up."

But he was thinking of Leela's face when he'd asked her about it in the sewer. She'd had the distant, dazed expression of someone who'd just been hit with a horrible truth.

"She didn't know," he realized.

Nibbler nodded. "Consciously? I believe not."

"How do you love someone and _not know?_" Lars demanded. "That's crazy."

Nibbler made no argument.

Lars buried his head in his hands.

"This is a mess," he muttered. He looked up. "Leela – is she okay? You didn't answer my question."

Nibbler gave him a curiously intense look.

"She is . . . troubled," he said at last. "But why are you concerned?"

Lars glared at him. "I love her," he said coldly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Nibbler watched him carefully. "Who is the you who loves her?" he asked.

"What? I . . . me. Lars."

"Lars who is not Philip J Fry?"

"I . . . no. I mean . . . yes. I don't know. _Me. _I love her."

"I see," Nibbler said gravely.

Lars laughed. "Do you? I don't think I do anymore."

He stared blankly at his feet.

"I miss her. That's all I know." He frowned to himself. "I had a dream a few nights ago. I dreamed I was dead, and you know what the strange thing was? It didn't feel any different to being alive." He looked up sharply. "It felt how I feel when I'm not with her. That's not right, is it?"

Nibbler looked graver than ever.

"No," he said slowly. He gave Lars a long, searching look. "You are not right."

"What does that mean?"

The Nibblonian sighed. "There are two of you," he announced. "Two versions of Philip J Fry occupying the same point in time. Such a thing cannot be."

"But it already is," Lars retorted. "Fat lot you can do about now. Fat lot any of us can do. Leela can't be in love with two people." He swallowed. "She'll have to choose."

Nibbler shook his head. "The situation is far greater than that. You are an irregularity, and your existence is now entangled with many lives. You have impacted the universe around you in unknowable ways."

Lars frowned. "So? I mean, doesn't everyone? That's why people live together, instead of in, I dunno, some kind of bubble or something."

Nibbler didn't seem all that soothed by this.

"You do not understand," he insisted. "You and Leela are a point on which a great many futures converge. Even my people do not fully comprehend it, but it is so. Interference could threaten the very fate of the universe. And now the three of you have created such an almighty interference that even I cannot see how to right it. I care deeply for Leela, but I see no way to spare her pain in this." He chittered nervously. "Her actions may have put the universe to rights again, or they may have set us all on course to our doom."

"Hey," Lars objected. "This isn't Leela's fault. What she did was bad, but it's not the end of the universe. And maybe she shouldn't have married me, okay. If that wasn't supposed to happen then fine. But she probably wants to divorce me anyway, so I don't think it makes too much difference."

Nibbler groaned. "As individuals," he said slowly, "your actions can be undone. But the three of you have created an anomaly which has the potential to destabilize the universe. If such a creation was supposed to be, then I must protect it – but if not, then I cannot allow it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lars said.

"My race has watched over your universe since its infancy. We – _I – _have a duty to protect it. Whatever my personal instincts toward Leela, if her progeny threatens us all, I have no-"

He was interrupted by the sound of a cell-phone ringing.

"That's me," Lars said distractedly. "Hold on."

He was wondering what the hell a progeny was. It sounded like a movie by Ridley Scott.

He fumbled awkwardly in his pockets, and then remembered his cell was part of the communicator clipped to his wrist. He wrenched it free.

"It's Leela. Leela! It's you!"

"Well at least that's something we can all agree on," Leela said drily. She paused. "Hi."

She was hard to see on the small screen, but she looked fine. Tired, but safe, and definitely not destabilizing any universes.

"Where are you?" she asked.

"The Professor's lab," Lars confessed. "Nibbler's here too. Freaking out about the universe again."

Leela sighed. "Yeah, he's been doing that a lot lately. Amy thinks I should try him on Xanax."

"I dunno . . ." Lars looked the Nibblonian up and down. He was now pacing in a furious circle, muttering to himself. "You'd need a hell of a lot."

"I know." Leela rubbed her eye, suppressing a yawn. "So what's eating him now?"

Lars shrugged. "You. Me. The fate of the universe. You know, the usual."

He eyed Nibbler again. He didn't seem to be paying any attention, but Lars was careful to lower his voice anyway, just in case.

"Maybe you should come get him. Bring him a 'special' steak, if you know what I mean."

Leela grimaced. "I can't. I'm a little . . . tied up . . . right now. I'm at Fry and Bender's."

She pulled the camera back a little to show him Fry, asleep on the couch beside her. Leela had her feet up on the coffee table, but there still wasn't a whole lot of room. His younger self was curled unconsciously around her, with one arm wound around her waist. Lars wondered if he'd ever looked so much like a needy child.

Probably, though it was hard to picture.

Still, he couldn't help noticing that Fry's hair was mussed – like someone had been running their hands through it. He felt a sudden stab of jealousy. It had been easy to feel sorry for his younger self when there was no hope of him ever getting what he wanted, but it was harder to feel generous now that he'd somehow fallen into bed with Leela. It was also hard not to feel just a little insecure. For all his faults, there had been some good things about being Fry. Lars remembered being that young. He remembered living on a constant sugar high. He remembered having an attention-span ten minutes long. But he also remembered feeling freer. Less tired, less self-conscious. Fry could be impulsive, and clumsily charming, and he'd had sex on the brain. If you considered those good things, then he had a definite appeal.

Lars was starting to suspect Leela found those things more appealing than he'd thought.

Leela herself didn't seem to notice his jealousy – though maybe she just wasn't used to seeing it in him. He had never been jealous before.

"I sorta mistook him for a punch-bag," she admitted.

"Oh." Lars tried to look like this bothered him. He couldn't quite get there. "How hard did you hit him? Zapp-hard?"

"Harder."

"Ow."

Leela winced. "I know. I was working through some issues with the punch-bag. I didn't even see him."

"Is he still out?" Lars asked. "He looks asleep."

"Huh?"

Leela glanced down. She reddened and her arm hovered awkwardly over Fry, as the urge to move him from his current position battled with her desire not to wake him. The latter won out in the end, and she left him where he was.

"I didn't realize he was . . . ugh." She shook her head. "He _is_ asleep. His head is still a little screwy, I guess." Her face softened slightly, and her hand twitched unconsciously, like she'd been about to stroke Fry's hair.

Well, that explained that.

Lars sighed.

"He'll be fine. Trust me – he's got a thick skull."

"Yes. Of course." Leela hesitated. "Lars . . . I told him."

"About me?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. I had to."

Lars gaped at her. "What? Why?"

"He had a right to know."

"Well, maybe, but that doesn't mean you had to tell him! Why would you do that? It'll just make him miserable."

Leela's expression flickered.

"Then he'll be in good company," she said tightly. "You, me . . . he might as well join the party. Besides – what makes you think he was happy before? You can't really believe that. You _know _what he must have felt."

There was a long silence.

"I do know," Lars managed at last. "I'm sorry. You're right. I only meant -"

"I know what you meant."

Leela was staring at him now. She'd never looked at him like this before. It wasn't just that she was looking at Lars and seeing that he'd once been Fry. It was like she was looking at him as Fry and for the first time, she could really _see_ him. It made him uncomfortable.

"I . . . You don't seem so angry anymore," he said uneasily.

Leela blinked. "I'm not. Well, I am, but I'm angry at myself. We wouldn't be in this mess if I hadn't been so blind." She took a deep, steadying breath. "You were right, Lars."

"About what?"

"I _did_ love you. When we met again I think I fell for you so fast because I'd never fallen _out_ of love with you. But all that time before . . . I was too afraid to admit what I felt, so I pushed it away. I told myself it couldn't be real. I felt happy just being with you, and when I thought I might lose you I felt sick to my stomach . . . but I was so scared of calling that love I couldn't even let myself think it."

She swallowed, like she had a lump in her throat.

"And then I met you again," she said softly. "And I didn't have all those walls up in my head, so I let you walk right in. It was so easy. When I felt drawn to you or right with you, I didn't question it. It felt like I'd known you for years, and I thought that was how love was supposed to feel."

She touched his face on the screen, blinking back tears.

"I didn't love you because you were different with me, Lars. It was me - _I_ was different with _you_."

"Okay," Lars said uncertainly. "But don't cry. Please. Why are you crying?"

Leela sniffed. "Because I don't think you know who you are anymore. And I think I did that."

"No, you didn't. You didn't do anything," Lars assured her. "That was all me."

"You're still doing it!" Leela snapped.

Lars blinked. "Oh, right. Sorry." He paused. "Uh, just so I know . . . what am I doing?"

Leela shook her head in disbelief.

"Do you just say whatever you think I need to hear?"

"No!" Lars caught sight of her expression, and reconsidered. "I mean . . . wait, no. No, of course not." When Leela continued to stare him down, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I don't really know what I'm supposed to say to that."

Leela gaped at him.

"Don't you ever disagree with me?" she demanded.

"No."

"So you never think I'm wrong, about anything?"

"Oh, no," Lars said easily. "Never."

"That's insane. There must be something you think I was wrong about, at some stage."

"Not really. You're always right in the end."

Leela glared. "I slept with Fry," she said cruelly. "I did it because I was selfish and restless and I wanted to see if I damn well _could. _Tell me you don't think that was wrong. You can't!"

"That wasn't your fault," Lars argued. "If I'd been honest from the start-"

Leela made a little noise, like she was suppressing a scream.

"You honestly think that wasn't my fault? _How_?"

"I told you-"

"No! I screwed somebody else! You're allowed to be mad at me! For God's sake! Aren't you even a little mad?"

"No," Lars said evenly. _I'm hurt, but I'm not mad. _He frowned. He had the feeling Leela was pushing him, trying to make him snap. He'd had the same feeling with Nibbler, but he didn't really see the point. "Would it make you feel better if I was?" he asked her.

Leela tore at her hair. "What does it matter what I feel? You're not supposed to be making me feel better! Come on!"

"You want me to make you feel bad?"

"No, I want you to _want _to make me feel bad!" Leela snapped. "Call me a bitch, yell at me, I don't know. Just do _something."_

Lars stared at her.

"Fine," he said at last. "I don't agree with you."

"I . . . what?"

"I don't agree with you. I don't want to make you feel bad, so I guess I must think you're wrong about something. I don't agree with you."

"Oh my god . . ." Leela started to laugh hysterically. She looked as if she was preparing to scream when suddenly she froze, looking down in a panic. It seemed like she'd finally managed to wake Fry.

"Leela?" he said blearily. "Wha . . . huh . . .?"

"You're dreaming," Leela said quickly. "Go back to sleep, Fry."

"But . . ."

"Shhh." She kissed him swiftly on the forehead, which seemed to convince Fry he was asleep after all.

"Oh . . . dreaming," he mumbled. He curled more tightly around her and planted a clumsy kiss on the only part of her he could reach, which turned out to be her stomach. After a few seconds he started to snore.

Leela let out a sigh of relief and turned back to the phone.

"You can't not be angry with me," she hissed. "That's crazy."

Lars frowned. "Well, I'm not. What good would it do, anyway?"

"None. It would probably make things worse, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't be feeling it anyway." Leela waved her arm in agitation. "I loved you for eight years and I never told you. I let you go back to the year 2000 not knowing. You could have died not knowing! If things weren't such a mess I probably wouldn't have told you even now."

"You had your reasons."

"I know I did!" Leela spluttered. "But how do they not make you angry?"

"What would be the point? It's over," Lars said calmly. "Besides, you said it yourself – if all this hadn't happened, I never would have known how you felt. But now I do, so something good came out of this."

"I don't see how that's good."

Lars smiled. "I wanted you to love me, Leela. That's all I ever wanted. No matter what happens now, I'll always have that. And I'll know it was real, because if you loved me even back then, it _must_ have been." He gestured at Fry. "I don't think you'd ever admit to loving him if you didn't mean it."

Leela moaned.

"You could at least be a little angry," she muttered. She gestured loosely at Fry. "He was mad at me. And I'm pretty sure he wants to hit you as soon as he can stand."

Lars shrugged. "Yeah, but he's immature."

"I'm not sure he is. I think I'd be mad too," Leela argued.

Lars laughed. "Yeah, but honey . . . uh, nothing."

Leela narrowed her eye. "But what? What were you going to say?"

Lars rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Nothing. It's just, well . . . I love you . . . but you did sort of sucker-punch me the last time we spoke. I'm just saying. Maybe you and Fry aren't as different as you think."

Leela gaped at him.

"Did you just compare my maturity level with Fry's?"

In her indignation, Leela had forgotten to keep her voice down. She remembered too late.

"Oh, crap."

Fry stopped snoring with a snort.

"Did someone say Fry?" he mumbled.

"No. Go back to sleep."

"Oh . . . okay, Leela." He settled back down, and then seemed to notice who he was settling down on, and toppled off her in shock. "Wait, _Leela_?" he cried from the floor.

"Damn," Leela said. "What did you do that for, you idiot? You just slept off a concussion, do you want another one?"

She sighed.

"How many fingers am I holding up? What's the Professor's first name?"

"Professor," Fry said blearily. "And I don't know how many fingers, I don't remember."

"That was your laziest effort yet," Leela reprimanded him.

Fry stood up and brushed himself off.

"Okay," he said brightly. "How's this : You love me and you married me and Lars _is _me, and now I'm going to go punch him in the face. How's my brain working now?"

"As usual, it's not."

"Great. Then I'm back to normal. Let's go!"

Lars left them arguing and hung up quietly. When he turned his attention back to Nibbler, he realized the floor was empty. He sighed.

"This is bad."

"Indeed."

"Argh!" Lars yelled.

Nibbler, it turned out, had been sitting on his shoulder, listening in on his conversation with Leela.

Lars stumbled sideways in shock, tripped, and went flying. He was dimly aware of crashing into something, and a searing pain flashed across the top of his head, but he landed in one piece,so he shrugged it off as nothing.

"I really don't like it when people sneak up on me," he complained. "Ever been firebombed? It makes you a little jumpy, if you know what I mean." He sat up. "Were you eavesdropping on me and Leela?"

Nibbler simply stared.

"The question doesn't go away if you don't answer it," Lars said, irritated. His scalp was stinging, and when he touched it, his hand came away bloody. "Oh. Shoot. I guess it's a good thing I don't have any hair, huh?" He frowned. "That was supposed to be a joke. What are you staring at?"

He followed Nibbler's gaze, curious to see what he'd knocked over.

"I . . . oh."

It was the Professor's portable guillotine. That was strange in itself, but what was _really _strange was the way it had fallen. The blade had snicked shut on the top of his head, taking off the skin. Six inches lower and it would have closed on his neck.

Lars swallowed nervously.

"Wow. That was close."

Nibbler stood up suddenly, drawing himself up to his full height. Granted, this wasn't any more impressive than his regular height, but it seemed churlish not to pay attention when he was making the effort.

"I must leave," he declared to a thoroughly stunned Lars.

"What?"

"I must return to my home planet and consult with my people. They may have knowledge I do not."

"Knowledge about what?" Lars asked. He was using Amy's lab coat to soak up the blood from his head wound. It looked bad but he felt fine, so it was probably just a flesh wound.

Nibbler eyed him gravely.

"The fate of our universe," he said solemnly.

Lars frowned. "You said all that had something to do with Leela," he said slowly. "So you're trying to help her?"

Nibbler hesitated. "Yes . . . I am fond of Leela, and of this universe. I would save them both at any cost."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Lars observed.

Nibbler watched him intently. "You love her," he said at last. "You must protect her in my absence."

Lars laughed uneasily. "It's not that I don't agree with you," he said, "but Leela's pretty good at protecting herself, and she could use some space right now. I don't think she'll take too kindly to me trying to babysit her."

"It doesn't matter what she thinks of it," Nibbler said fiercely. "_You will do it anyway_."

Lars balled up Amy's lab-coat and stuffed it in the sink.

"What makes you so sure?" he asked. "And why me? Why aren't you telling Fry this? He loves her too."

On his way to the door, Nibbler stopped.

"Because sacrifice is part of the very nature of your love for Leela," he said sadly. "And because very soon, you will be dead."


	28. Chapter 28

Amy was chewing gum, twirling it around her finger as she sashayed down the hall. She was humming to herself, but when Lars grabbed her wrist she screamed.

"La, la, la, la . . . aaahhh!"

"Sorry! Sorry!" Lars threw his hands up to reassure her. "I didn't mean to scare you," he said. "I just wanted to borrow you for a while."

He glanced up and down the empty hallway and tugged her quickly into the lab, sealing the door behind them. Then he pulled up a stool and sat the Martian girl down in it, smoothing the sleeve of her sweater where he'd grabbed her.

"Sorry," he said again.

"Um . . . that's okay."

Amy looked at him warily.

"So, um . . . what did you want? And why is the door shut?" A thought seemed to strike her. "Are you gonna take your clothes off?"

Lars shrugged.

"I dunno. You tell me."

"Oh!" Amy blushed. "Well, you can if you want to, but I think Leela would be majorly pissed if she heard about it."

"What?" Lars stared at her in confusion, and then it clicked. He shook his head wearily. "Amy, I'm not hitting on you."

"You're not?"

"No!"

"Oh. Okay."

"I just need you to tell me if I'm dying or not."

Amy gaped at him. It took her a minute to transition from mild disappointment to shock.

"Are you sick?" she asked at last.

"No."

"Do you think you were poisoned or something?"

"No."

"Are you headed for a Suicide Booth anytime soon?"

"No!"

Amy laughed. "Then you look as alive as everyone else. More alive than Scruffy, actually. Why would you ask?"

Lars chewed his cheek, agitated. "Someone said I was going to die soon."

Amy sobered up a little.

"Maybe they were joking," she suggested.

"No. I'm pretty sure they have no sense of humor," Lars told her. "Please – you're smart. You're a scientist. You can do tests and science-y stuff, can't you? If there was something wrong with me I _know_ you could find it." He swallowed. "Please, Amy."

Amy blinked. "You really think I'm smart?"

"I know you are. And I trust you."

Amy seemed floored by this.

"Okay," she said quietly.

"Okay? You'll help me?"

"Yeah."

Lars sagged with relief.

"Thank you."

"No problem." Amy opened a drawer, pulled out a bunch of wires, and slapped them playfully against her palm. She grinned. "Clothes off, probes on, mister!"

"Hey," she continued, as Lars scrambled to obey her. "I heard about you and Leela. I'm really sorry. Do you think you guys can work it out?"

Lars felt his smile fade. "I don't know. Probably not."

"Aw, man. That sucks. Hey, hold still a sec - I need your blood."

She caught his arm, straightened it out, and stuck him with the needle before Lars had time to protest.

"Nice moves," he muttered.

"Thanks," Amy chirped. "I had Type Two diabetes as a kid. Okay . . . I'm gonna scope your blood, so just sit still and let the monitor check you over."

Lars followed the wires with his eyes. They led to an open laptop screen, which was beeping and blipping faintly.

"What does that do?""

Amy shrugged, engrossed in her microscope.

"Monitors stuff."

"What stuff?"

"Heart rate, muscle tone . . . everything. And your blood can tell me everything else. If you were dying, that stuff would tell me why."

"Okay." Lars watched her humming to herself as she twiddled the microscope. He nodded at her engagement ring. "Congratulations, by the way. I'm sorry I couldn't make it to the party – I was at a head conference in Oregon. Did Leela give you the present?"

"The waffle-toaster?" Amy grinned. "Yeah, thanks. It's a good one."

Lars laughed. "Does Bender like it?"

"Are you kidding me? He's driving me crazy with it. I keep telling him how fat I'm gonna be, but I don't think he gets that about humans. Or he's too proud of his waffles to care."

Lars smiled. "Good," he said softly. The image of Bender making waffles made him happier than he'd felt in a while. It would have been nice to try one.

_Look after him, Amy, _he thought sadly. _Because I miss him every day._

He cleared his throat. "How's the bloodwork coming?" he asked. "Can you tell if I have deadly boneitis yet?"

"No! You don't have boneitis, Lars." Amy giggled. "No-one gets that anymore. Actually, you seem fine so far. No diseases at all."

"What, none?" Lars said doubtfully. " Are you sure?"

"None," Amy chirped. "Nil, zip, nada. I'm going to compile the data and draw up a physical profile, to see if you're at risk of developing anything . . . but I doubt it. Honestly, you seem fine."

She typed a few lines, and shot him a quizzical look.

"How old are you, anyway?"

"Uh . . ." Lars paused, trying to think. "I dunno," he managed at last. "Fifty? Fifty-five? I kinda lost track."

He'd given Leela an age once, but he couldn't remember what it had been. She seemed to have been keeping tabs on his birthdays though, so he usually just asked her how old he was. Let's see . . he'd celebrated eight birthdays in the future, and then twelve in the past . . . eight of those had been do-overs . . . then he'd unfrozen a couple years early when Michelle's cryo-pod timed out . . . and he'd been married to Leela for two years . . . He might even be older than he thought. Thinking about it made his head hurt.

Even this figure seemed to shock Amy, however.

"You're only fifty?" she exclaimed. "Goops. Sorry. I just meant . . . I always thought you were older. Haven't you ever been youthisized?"

"No."

Amy gawped at him. "But _everyone _gets youthisized! Otherwise you'd look way old, _way _fast."

Lars shrugged. "I don't want to look younger."

"Wow. That's really rad. But you know you're getting youthisized all the time, right? I mean, there are so many chemicals in the air and in food and in, well, everywhere, that it slows the aging process whether you want it to or not, so there's kinda no point opposing it. It's not like living a bajillion years ago when everyone got married right outta the cradle and looked ancient by the end of their twenties. We have it _so _much better now."

"Fine," Lars told her. "Then I can stay looking like this for a while. I'm fine with that. I just don't want to look any younger, thanks."

"You're weird," Amy said easily. "Though this look does work for you," she conceded. She looked him up and down and flashed him a flirtatious smile. "If you weren't Leela's husband, I would totally do you."

She laughed when he choked and fumbled urgently for his clothes.

"Relax! I'm not gonna seduce you, Lars. Spleesh. You know, you shouldn't listen to Leela. Just because I'm cute and sexually confident, she thinks I'm a tramp. And I'm really not. I never stole anybody's boyfriend before, and I only ever cheated once in my life – which I still feel horrible about."

"I-" Lars tried to interrupt, but Amy overrode him.

"The only reason I even cheated on Kif was because I got tired,okay? I got tired of him being so perfect and loyal and patient in every way, but freaking out _the whole time _about how I was going to leave him or cheat on him every time I left his sight. He'd have a meltdown if I even _looked_ at another guy. And I do look at other guys sometimes! So what? I'm only human! I loved Kif, but he made me feel so bad about it, like he was just waiting for me to cheat on him. He didn't trust me." She calmed down a little. "I know everyone thinks I'm crazy for getting into a relationship with Bender, but you know what? I don't care. Because Bender doesn't care. He makes me feel good about myself and I have fun with him, and that's good enough for me."

She added something to his blood sample and shook it vigorously.

"Leela's my friend," she went on, scowling, "and I love her, but she drives me nuts sometimes. She's always _judging _me. Like the way she thinks I'm a slut, even though she just did the exact same thing as me. She cheated! And actually she cheated worse, because her whole relationship with Fry is just crazy messed-up. Like, why didn't she just bone him way back when they first met? She obviously wanted to, but instead she acts like they're just friends, and oh my god, you would not believe how pissed she was at me when I dated him. I swear she's still mad at me for that. And you can't even talk to her about it because it's like this gigantic elephant in the room, like, oh, don't talk about my totally weird relationship with Fry! And I never do, but I hate that she judges me for _sex_, which is nothing, when I swear she's got to be _in love _with – oh my god." The Martian girl pulled up short and looked at Lars in a panic. "I'm sorry," she gushed. "I didn't mean that! Don't even listen to me – I should have kept my big mouth shut."

Lars sighed. "Amy, it's okay. I know."

"You do?"

"Yeah. So does Leela, by now. She loves him. It's okay."

Amy blinked at him, dumbstruck.

"Oh, wow," she mumbled. "I'm so sorry, Lars."

"It's okay," Lars repeated.

"What are you going to do?" Amy asked worriedly.

"I don't know. It's complicated."

They lapsed into silence, which didn't really surprise Lars. There wasn't much else to say.

Amy was the one to break it.

"Did you know you have a weak heart?" she asked tentatively.

"Huh? Oh . . . yeah. I have meds for that. Also for my ADD." Lars pulled them out of his pocket and tossed them to her. "Is that a problem?"

Amy studied the label on the dispenser of pills.

"No, it shouldn't be. You don't eat junk food or drink soda or smoke, and I'm pretty sure you don't do drugs."

"No."

Amy smiled. "Then you're fine. Absolutely positively."

Lars tucked the pills back in his top pocket and frowned at her.

"You mean my heart is fine?"

"Your heart is fine, and everything else is fine too. You're about as likely to die as I am, Lars! So chill out, okay?"

Lars let go of a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"I'm not gonna die?"

"No!" Amy elbowed him in the ribs. "Quit it with the doom and gloom already."

She squealed when Lars picked her up and spun her round, laughing.

"I'm not going to die!"

He felt like a weight had been lifted, like some half-formed dread had passed by overhead. Sure, it hadn't made any sense for him to be dying, but the idea had hit home in a way he couldn't explain. Maybe it was because he'd felt so lost lately. Maybe it was just how sure Nibbler had sounded. Either way, it was a relief to know the Nibblonian had been wrong.

He set Amy down again.

"I have to go – my face is late for a meeting with someone's fist. But thank you, Amy. I owe you one."

He kissed her on the forehead and hurried out, leaving her giggling helplessly in the Professor's lab.

* * *

><p>He ran into Leela on the sidewalk outside Planet Express.<p>

She was standing staring up at the building, obviously debating going in, when he walked into her. Lars held onto her instinctively when she stumbled against him. They stayed like that for a moment, tangled clumsily together, both forgetting to breathe. Lars was taking in her face, absorbing every tiny detail he'd forgotten since he last saw her. That was what he had feared most, when Nibbler had told him he was going to die : never seeing Leela again. Lars had never been instilled with any real sense of religion, so he was hazy on the afterlife, but he wasn't afraid of it either. The only thing that really scared him was the thought of something happening to Leela, of having to go through the rest of his life without her. _Some life that would be, _he thought vaguely. Looking at her now, she was so beautiful she made his heart ache. He let go of her unwillingly.

"Hey."

"Hi."

Leela tugged her jacket more tightly about her, shivering a little in the cool fall breeze. She looked chilly, and deeply unhappy.

"We need to talk," she said quietly.

Lars nodded.

"We'll get coffee," he said.

Leela offered no opposition to this plan – she simply followed him across the street and took a seat in silence. She accepted her coffee without complaint, but didn't seem much in the mood to drink it. She pulled a face at the first sip and then just cupped it in her hands, using it to warm her fingers. Lars gulped his own decaf too quickly, blistering his tongue.

"We need to talk," Leela said again.

"I know," Lars said.

What he really wanted to say was "I love you", and what he really wanted to do was reach across the table and kiss his wife - but he had the feeling that wouldn't help.

"You look tired," he told her instead, as gently as he could.

Leela avoided his eye. "It was a long night."

"I'm sorry," Lars said guiltily."Where's Fry? I was expecting him to be hitting me around about now."

Leela scowled.

"He doesn't know where you are, and I'm not telling him. You've both done enough stupid things on my account. I'm not adding some bone-headed fist-fight to the list."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out an orange perspex tube. Lars watched her open it and unfurl the papers inside.

"Divorce papers," he said quietly.

Leela nodded.

"I got us a quick-kit from the 7-11," she said. "I figured there wasn't much point hiring a lawyer if we could do this amicably."

"I guess not."

Lars thumbed through the papers. He hated the idea of ending his marriage, but he'd known it was coming. He pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket and clicked off the lid.

"So how do we do this?"

"We fill out the form and send it on to the Central Bureaucracy," Leela said. "They send us back the document, we digi-sign it, and it's official. Knowing the Central Bureaucracy, it'll take a few weeks, but it's still pretty fast, considering."

_Too fast, _Lars thought.

"You really thought this through."

"Yes," his wife snapped. "And it wasn't pleasant, but someone had to do it. This is a mess, Lars, but I'm trying to end it as cleanly as possible. And you won't change my mind by arguing about it, either of you."

"Either of us?" Lars laughed. "Why would Fry want you to stay married to me?"

"He doesn't."

"Then what . . . oh. He wants you to be with him. And you said no," he realized. Leela's expression had frozen, and for the first time Lars felt a prickle of anger. "Why would you do that?"

Leela's face softened.

"Because I love you," she said. "Despite all the lies. And I love him, despite . . . well, everything. Do you have any idea what it's like to love two people at the same time? It's driving me mad!"

"Then choose."

"I have chosen," Leela said. She sounded strained. "I can't be with either of you without hurting the other, and I won't do that. So I'm making the only choice that's fair. I won't be with _either_ of you."

"But . . . that leaves you alone. How is that fair?" Lars scowled. "Fry can't agree with that."

Leela sighed.

"Lars . . . just . . . shut up."

Leela had never told him to shut up before. But the memory must have been hard-wired into his brain, leftover from years of being Fry, because Lars shut his mouth automatically. It was annoying, being cut off like that, but in a way, it felt kind of . . . good. Had he missed that?

Apparently he had.

There was an awkward pause.

"I'm-" Leela started to say, but Lars cut her off this time.

"Don't say you're sorry," he said. He pulled the divorce papers toward him and forced himself to smile at her. "We should start on this. No point in dragging it out, right?"

Leela stared down at her coffee. "I guess not."

"Okay, so . . . name : Turanga Leela, age : 36." Lars scribbled this down. "Name : Lars Filmore. Age . . . uh . . ." He glanced at Leela. "How old am I?"

She sighed. "You're 53."

"Right, right. Hmm." He clicked the pen lid on and off a few times, thinking about the next question. "What's our address?"

"Lars!"

"What? Oh . . ." Catching her expression, he coughed. "Stupid question?"

"How do you not know where we live?" Leela asked impatiently. "You _live _there!"

Lars shrugged. "But it's not like I ever write home," he pointed out.

Leela groaned. "Just leave it. I'll fill it out later."

"Okay." Lars took a deep breath. "Length of marriage . . . two years. Kids : none. Pets . . . does Nibbler count as a pet? I mean, technically he's your pet."

"Of course he's mine."

Lars nodded, reading ahead.

"As-sets . . . what's a set? A set of whats? Asses?"

"Oh, lord. _Assets_. It means things you own. You know, valuables."

"Like what?"

"The car. The house. Things like that."

"Oh, right." Lars considered this. "So . . . you want that stuff, right?"

Leela stared at him. "What?"

"Well, I get it if you don't want the car. It could use a service. The house is nice though. Do you want the house?"

"Uh . . ."

From her response, Lars suspected he was doing something wrong.

"You can have the car too," he said hurriedly. "I'll get it serviced. Or you can paint it a new color. Do you like red? You never said you didn't, so I always thought you did, but if you don't like it I can-"

"Lars!" Leela put her cup down abruptly. Cold coffee slopped over the edges.

"What?"

"This . . . this is not how a divorce works. You don't just give me everything!"

"I don't?"

"No! For crying out loud. We're supposed to divide up the stuff we own together, _fairly."_

"Oh." Lars nodded. "Gotcha."

He returned his attention to the page, and carefully signed over the house. But not the car, because that would be giving her everything, and apparently Leela objected to that.

"Alimony," he said next. "We have to 'agree alimony'. What's-"

"It means money," Leela said wearily. "Spousal support. You pay it out of your wages every month, and I'm not taking a dime."

"But . . ." Lars frowned.

"It's not up for discussion," Leela said tightly. "I cheated on you. I'm not taking a cent."

"But your wages are terrible," Lars reminded her. "How are you going to pay the mortgage on your own?"

"What mortgage?"

"You know – the one on the house," Lars said helpfully.

Leela glared at him. "You're giving me the house?" she said in disbelief. "Lars! I cheated on you! Stop giving me stuff!"

"Why?" Lars challenged her. "I don't want it." _Not without you, anyway. _ "And I lied to you. That's got to be as bad as cheating," he argued. "I didn't mean to do it, but I hurt you, and I want to make that right."

Leela's resolution seemed to waver, and she sighed.

"Fine," she said at last. "I'll keep the house, but I won't take any alimony."

They stared at each other for a long moment, but when she wanted to be, Leela could be at least as stubborn as Lars himself. Before long he realized he had no choice but to succumb to the stalemate and give her what she wanted - even if what she wanted wasn't what was best for her.

Leela filled in the details he'd forgotten at the top of the form, and then she slotted the papers back into the tube and sealed it.

"I'll send it off this afternoon," she promised.

"And then what? We just wait to be divorced?" Lars asked.

"Pretty much."

"Well . . ." Lars stuck his hand out across the table. "It was nice being married to you."

Leela put her hand in his cautiously.

"It was nice being married to you too," she said. She sounded sad.

They both stood up in the same awkward, abrupt moment – then realized their hands were still clasped. Leela broke off the handshake, blushing pink.

"I have to go," she said. She stumbled free of her chair and turned away from him in one quick movement.

Lars didn't try and stop her. If he did, he was afraid he'd see she was crying, and there wouldn't be a thing he could do about it – because it was all his fault.

* * *

><p>Amy was cleaning up something gloopy and glowing when he got back to the lab.<p>

"Don't ask," she said, and Lars decided he was happy not to.

"Where's the Professor?" he asked her instead.

She shrugged. "I think he's in the observatory. How'd it go with Leela?"

"We're getting divorced."

"Oh, _man_. I'm sorry."

Lars nodded.

"Actually . . . I wanted to ask you something," he said slowly.

Amy straightened up. "What, like another favor?" she said.

"Yeah. I need a place to stay. You don't have to say yes, I know it's a big ask. But I can't go home, and I can't stay here. I could ask Dr Cahill, but she's my boss. That could be a little weird."

Amy snorted. "Um, Lars? Leela would go apeshit if you moved in with her. She hates Dr Good'n'Sexy."

"She does?"

The intern laughed. "Um, _yeah."_

"Oh." Lars couldn't say he'd ever noticed this, but Amy seemed pretty certain. He'd been more worried about Cahill putting him in the nuthouse, but from the sound of it, he'd dodged more than one bullet with that idea. He wondered vaguely what it was Leela hated about Dr Cahill. "Well . . . I don't really have anywhere else to go," he admitted.

Amy sighed.

"You are so clueless," she said pityingly. "Seriously."

She patted him on the shoulder, and seemed to come to a decision.

"Okay. You can stay with me, but you ought to know – Leela will drag you out of there by your ears as soon as she finds out."

"You think?"

"Oh yeah." Amy shook her head in disbelief and turned back to her work. "I'll take you home with me tonight, but I have to finish up here first." She shooed him away with her hands. "So go, clear out for a few hours, okay?"

* * *

><p>Talking to the Professor turned out to be pretty pointless, as he'd forgotten who Lars was. Lars decided against explaining again – the old man would probably just insist on taking a fresh sample of his blood, and the crook of Lars' arm was still black with bruises from his last short-sighted attempt. His memory would likely return in a few days anyway.<p>

Fry didn't show up for work and Leela didn't return, so Lars spent the afternoon watching tv on the couch, and wondering how far from home Nibbler was by now, and how soon he might be back. He really didn't want to have to tell Leela her pet was gone.

Amy clocked out at five and let him walk her home.

"I would let you sleep on the couch," she said brightly, as she led him into her apartment, "but Bender likes to have sex on it. So I hope this is okay. It's just the guest room and it's not decorated or anything, but I think there's a fold-out in here somewhere. Or a futon. I don't know, I don't come in here much."

She unlocked a door at the end of the hall and flicked on the light. The room this revealed was tiny, and crammed ceiling-high with stuff. Boxes, pictures, giant stuffed toys, a scale model of the universe . . . . Lars inched his way inside and lifted the lid of a nearby box. It turned out it contained unlaundered DOOP uniforms, romantic holo-records, and a giant, sticky candy heart. Printed neatly on the top were the words "Memories of Kif".

"This is where I keep all my memories of Kif," Amy said, unnecessarily. "You won't mess anything up, will you?" she asked nervously.

"Oh. No. Not at all," Lars assured her. "Er, what's the sme-"

"Ambergris."

"Right. Right."

Amy checked her watch.

"Well, I have to go – Bender and I are testing some new hardware at his place, if you know what I mean."

She winked.

Lars put this image together in his head, and immediately scrubbed it out again.

"Sure," he said quickly. "Have fun."

"I always do!" Amy chirped. "Don't wait up!"

She waved once, and then she left him.

Lars found the futon easily enough. It wasn't all that comfortable, but his old hammock on the Planet Express ship had been worse. He shoved a stuffed frog into a "Kif Me Quick" t-shirt, and wedged it under his head for a pillow. It didn't help much with the pain in his neck, but it was better than nothing.

There was a stack of books beside his elbow. The top one caught his eye and he reached out for it.

It was _Webster's Dictionary (75th edition)._

There was a note in the inside cover.

_My dearest Amy,_

_All the words in this dictionary can't express my devotion to you._

_Love, _

_Your Kiffy._

Lars pulled a face. That was unbelievably sappy.

Leela would have laughed.

The realization he couldn't just tell her and hear her laugh hurt. Still, with Nibbler gone, the dictionary was probably his best shot at an explanation, so he turned to the first page.

_**Aardvark : **__a large burrowing nocturnal mammal (___Orycteropus afer___) of sub-Saharan Africa that has a long snout, extensible tongue, powerful claws, large ears, and heavy tail and feeds especially on termites and ants . . . _

Lars groaned. He could feel his attention wandering already. This was going to be hard-going, especially if all the chapters were as boring as this one. And was it just his imagination, or did all the words on this page begin with 'a'?

He sighed, and wondered vaguely how long it would take him to reach the word 'progeny'.


	29. Chapter 29

**A / N : Sad news, everyone! They canned Futurama. :(  
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**Thanks to - MB Jones, cactusgirlie, and dia!  
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**Now back to Fry. **

* * *

><p>Fry jerked awake at the sound of his name. He'd been sleeping on something warm and sweet-smelling, and he felt . . . happy, he supposed. Which was weird, because he couldn't remember the last time he'd woken up feeling happy. He wondered what had caused it.<p>

"Did someone say Fry?" he mumbled.

"No," a familiar voice told him. "Go back to sleep."

_Leela, _his mind supplied.

"Oh . . . okay, Leela."

He settled back down. Of course it was Leela.

No-one made him as happy as Leela.

No-one made him as unhappy as Leela either, he noted blearily, and then wondered why he'd thought that. Why would he think about that, when Leela was right here, warm and close and _real_, the way she never was in his dreams. He breathed her in, tightening his hold and . . . wait, _what_?

Fry sprang away from her as his brain finally processed the situation. He crashed to the floor, which would probably have hurt if he wasn't still in shock.

"Wait, _Leela_?" he cried.

"Damn," Leela said. For a split second Fry thought she was talking to someone on her wrist device, but her next words banished this impression. There was no way they could be aimed at anyone but him.

"What did you do that for, you idiot?" she snapped. "You just slept off a concussion, do you want another one?"

A concussion? This sounded vaguely familiar. Not that it would be the first time. He was pretty prone to head injuries. But no, now he could remember Leela, and a hot-dog . . . or a punch-bag . . . and then she'd taken him home . . .

Leela was sighing, but Fry wasn't paying attention, because his memory of the night before had just returned with the force of a thunderclap.

Leela loved him. She _loved _him.

That was the good part, the part that had sent his world spinning on its axis. But oh, wait, here came the bad part.

_She loves Lars too. And he's you. Older, smarter you. _

Leela was still talking.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" she asked. "What's the Professor's first name?"

"Professor," Fry said distractedly. He was still reeling from last night's revelations. "And I don't know how many fingers, I don't remember."

"That was your laziest effort yet," Leela reprimanded him.

She was using her ordinary tone, the one she used to admonish him when he did something wrong at work. She probably thought acting normally would keep him calm, but it wasn't working. She'd just admitted she loved him, and now she wanted to act like things were normal? They were a long way from normal, and Fry knew exactly who to blame.

He stood up and brushed himself off. He had never been so angry.

_And you thought you hated Lars before, _he thought. _Boy, were you wrong. _

"Okay," he said brightly. "How's this : You love me and you married me and Lars _is _me, and now I'm going to go punch him in the face. How's my brain working now?"

Leela's expression flickered.

"As usual, it's not."

"Great," Fry shot back. "Then I'm back to normal. Let's go!"

He took her hands and pulled her up off the couch, animated by a sudden manic energy. He was going to hit Lars and hit him and then hit him some more. Lars would probably hit him back, but that was okay, because there was no way anything could feel worse than this.

The one thing he'd ever wanted – _the one thing – _and Lars had stolen it from him. And it wasn't just Leela he'd taken. It was Seymour and Yancy and his parents too ; everything Fry had left behind in the 20th century, everyone he'd ever loved who'd loved him back. If what Leela had told him was true, then Lars had spent 12 years in his old life. Twelve years. They hadn't even missed Fry, because they'd had the time-duplicate all along. It was like being punched in the guts. Fry had sometimes been jealous of his duplicate and the happy life he must have lived in the past – but every time that had started to hurt, he'd reminded himself of the one thing his duplicate couldn't have had : Leela. Even when he'd thought Leela would never love him back, it had still been a comfort to be near her, and he'd still felt sorry for his duplicate, who he'd thought had gone the rest of his life without her.

But Lars had got her too. He'd got _everything. _Everything Fry ever loved, everything he'd ever wanted. He had never, ever, hated someone so much.

"I'm going to kill him," he said.

Leela jerked her hands out of his and folded her arms, glaring at him.

"No," she said furiously, "you're _not."_

"Yes I am!"

"And how are you going to do that? You don't know where he is."

"You could tell me," Fry shot back.

"No."

"Why the hell not?"

Annoyance flashed across Leela's features.

"Because I love him," she snapped. "I'm not letting you hurt him, and I'm not letting him hurt you either. So knock it off."

Fry stared at her, breathing heavily.

_Oh, sure, _he thought bitterly. _Knock it off. _

"How am I supposed to do that?" he demanded. "I'm supposed to just not be mad? Well I am! I'm really mad!"

His fists were clenched and he yearned to smash something, _do _something . . . anything to get his feelings out.

Leela was the only thing he could focus on. There was less than a foot of space between them. He watched her chest rise and fall, color flooding her cheeks as she sucked up his own anger and sent it back at him. She was so beautiful and it hurt, hurt like someone had ripped out his insides.

"Leave him," he said raggedly. "Just . . . leave him. Be with me. Please."

He had asked her this before, without any hope, but he was begging now. He didn't care.

"Please," he said again.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Leela scowled. Apparently his stubborness was getting to her.

"I told you," she said tightly. "I love him."

Fry felt his anger boil over.

"_Why?_" he demanded. "Why do you care so much about _his_ feelings? He lied to you for two whole years! And I've been nothing but honest with you and you won't even give me a chance!"

He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her in close, staring into her eye.

"I love you," he said ruthlessly. "I love you, I love you, _I love you! _Tell me you don't love me too!"

Leela opened her mouth but couldn't seem to get the words out.

And then her mouth was on his and she was kissing him, hard. Fry didn't know if he had started it or if she had, but he didn't really care. They were kissing like it was some new type of warfare, each vying for dominance, and the blood was pounding in his ears. Fry was standing up straight for once and he had his hands buried in Leela's hair, pulling her up on her toes. Leela's fingers were digging into his shoulderblades. Hard. Desperate. Like she never wanted to let him go. When she ground her hips against his erection Fry's head swam and he stumbled, breaking the kiss to suck in air. Leela seized his moment of weakness and pounced, her hands working deftly at his belt buckle. She wrapped her fingers around his length and pulled him into another angry kiss – and then she squeezed. Fry yelped at the pressure. It hurt, he thought muzzily, but it was definitely a _good _hurt_._

Kind of like the whole thing, really.

He wrapped both arms around Leela's waist and picked her up, letting her unbalance him so they fell back onto the couch. Leela growled at the interruption and reached out to finish what she'd started.

But the part of Fry's brain not completely crazed by lust was being controlled by anger. Leela kept doing this to him, and she always won. She was always in control, even when she didn't seem to realize what she was doing. When she wanted him she got him, because she was too much for him to say no to. Did she even know how that felt?

_You're not winning this time, _he thought. _The hell you are._

He was powerless against Leela because he loved her, but that could give him the upper hand too. He knew her - and what he hadn't known, he'd paid close attention to. The first time they'd made love, that night by the ship, Leela had seemed almost possessed, like she was working to a mental checklist of things she wanted to do to him before her time ran out. But Fry had been busy committing her to memory, etching every detail into his brain. The second time, at Amy's engagement party, had been a blur for both of them, but Fry did remember being angry, and he remembered doing certain things that seemed to drive Leela crazy.

He kissed her neck and her eyelid fluttered, her breath hitching with a tiny "oh" sound as he sucked at the delicate skin of her collarbone. He slipped a hand between her legs and continued kissing her. She shuddered as his fingers worked a slow, deliberate pattern. It was killing him not to let her touch him, but it was worth it, because he definitely had the upper hand now. His thumb swirled across her clit and Leela convulsed around him.

"_Sweet zombie Jesus-" _she gasped. "Enough, enough – oh, _god . . ."_

She kissed him violently, urgently, and tugged him off the couch onto the floor. The sudden bump brought Fry back to himself long enough to realize he was forgetting something.

"Wait, wait," he panted. His hand flailed wildly, grasping at his jacket, at the coffee table . . . finally his fumbling fingers closed around what he was searching for.

Leela growled.

"Don't _stop _– what are you – ah!"

She lapsed into incoherency, angrily tugging him toward her. When she took hold of him again Fry yelped. He pressed the condom into her hand, seeing stars, and finally gave in.

It was over too fast after that.

Leela opened her eye as he collapsed the floor beside her. They lay side-by-side, listening to their own shaky breath.

"Uh . . ."

It was all Fry could manage.

Leela closed her eye and moaned.

"What's wrong with us?" she mumbled. "What the hell are we thinking?"

"I-" Fry started to say, but Leela stopped him.

"Don't," she said. "Don't say it. I can't-."

"It's still true if I don't say it." Fry pointed out. "I love-"

"_Don't."_

Leela sat up abruptly.

"This can't happen again," she insisted. "It can't. It's bad enough it happened once."

"Twice," Fry corrected.

"What?"

"It happened twice," he reminded her. "Amy's engagement party, remember?"

"Twice, fine-" Leela began. She shifted slightly and the condom wrapper crinkled under her hand. She looked down at it and stopped talking. "It-" She stopped again.

"What?"

"I . . . we . . . that other time . . ." She shook her head. "No. Nothing. Forget it."

Fry scowled.

"Let me guess," he said bitterly. "You forgot to tell Lars about that one."

Leela was staring into thin air. She had gone pale, and looked a little sick.

"I can't remember," she said distantly. "But I must have – we must have – I would never be that stupid. . . I wouldn't. Surely."

"Wouldn't what?"

Leela shook herself.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Leela said firmly. "I'm fine." She laughed unsteadily. "Of course I am."

Fry propped himself up on one elbow, looking at her. Her hair was curling loosely about her shoulders and her lipstick was smudged. Beneath it her lips were shaking. She kept swallowing, pressing them together as she fought to get her breath back, but she couldn't seem to calm down. Fry had never seen her look so demolished. She looked a little crazy, actually.

There was a hickey blooming on her breast. When he touched it, she winced.

"Sorry," he murmured, but when he went to kiss the spot, Leela pushed him away.

Fry flopped back onto the rug and watched in a disconnected way as Leela searched frantically for her clothes.

"This can't happen again," she panted, as she yanked her tank top over her head.

"You keep saying that," Fry reminded her. "And it keeps happening."

Leela threw his pants at him, but he ignored them.

"It wouldn't be a problem if you were with me," he pointed out. "Why is that such a crazy idea?"

"Are you going to get dressed at all?"

Fry disregarded this.

"I mean it," he persisted. "What's so wrong with me? Okay, so I have that brain thing, but who cares? You're smart enough for both of us. And we're pretty much even on the crazy."

When Leela pushed his shirt at him he caught her hand.

"I'm serious," he said. "You won't even think about it but this-" - he gestured at the space between them - "keeps happening, and I'm not doing it on my own, so you must like me a little-"

"Fry." Leela interrupted him, her eye blazing. "Just stop."

"No! You don't even care what you're doing to me, you just care about Lars – ow!"

Leela had slapped him.

"I don't _like_ you," she snapped. "I love you. Of course I care about Lars, you idiot – he _is _you! I can't hurt him any more than I can hurt you! _Because I love you both. _Do you know what that's doing to me? Do you have any idea what that's like?" She paused, breathing hard. "Polygamy might be constitutional, but there's a reason no-one in their right mind would try it. I hate myself no matter what I do."

Fry rubbed his cheek. "That hurt," he muttered.

Leela flushed. "When I said I couldn't hurt you, I meant . . . emotionally. Obviously I can't be held accountable for my-"

"Crazy temper," Fry finished for her.

"Yes."

Fry shrugged. "That's okay. I don't blame you for that. It's one of the things that makes you you. Also it's kind of hot."

"That's not helping," Leela told him.

"Nothing I do helps," Fry complained.

Leela turned away from him, tugging her fingers through her hair in an attempt to fix it. She groaned as her fingers snagged on another tangle.

"What did you do to me?" she muttered.

"There's a comb in one of my comic-books," Fry offered. "I needed to mark my place," he explained, when she stared at him.

Leela picked up the comb and rolled her eye.

"Fry . . . you're on page _two_."

"Yeah . . . I kept getting distracted. I hate reading, anyway. It's too much like thinking."

Leela snorted. "It's a comic. It's ninety per cent pictures, for crying out loud. How distracted can you get?"

Fry started to dress. He needed something to do with his hands, and it gave him a good excuse not to look at Leela.

"I kept reading the same page over and over," he said truthfully. "The words wouldn't go in. I kept thinking about you instead."

Leela fell silent.

"Fry," she said hesitantly. "This - us - it can't happen. Tell me you know that."

"But-"

"Tell me you know that."

"But what if you and Lars get divorced?" Fry persisted. "Then-"

"_No." _Leela pinched the bridge of her nose. "We're getting divorced anyway, but that doesn't matter. None of it does. This can't happen, Fry. No matter what."

"Wait – so you're not choosing me, but you're not choosing him either? That doesn't make any sense," Fry argued. "You have to choose someone."

Leela scowled.

"I don't need a man to make me happy," she said waspishly. "I don't know what kind of sexist crap they fed you back in the Stupid Ages, but -"

"Hey, I'm not being sexist!" Fry objected. "I don't think you need some guy to make you happy. I just think you need . . . you know. Someone you love."

There was a leaden silence.

"Then I guess I won't be happy," Leela said eventually. She took a deep breath and forced a smile. "Don't worry about me, Fry. I'm a woman in New New York. Single and lonely is not a new concept for me. Besides, I've got Nibbler, and that spin class I take on Thursdays. I won't even have time to think about it."

"Uh . . ." Fry wanted to tell her she wasn't kidding anyone, but this tragic attempt to reassure him seemed to matter to Leela, and he didn't have the heart to disagree with her. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked instead. "I still love you."

Leela's face did that funny shut-down thing again.

"Then love someone else."

"What?"

"You heard me. Love someone else." She folded her arms. "We can't be together and I won't let you waste the rest of your life pining after me. Get out there and find someone else, Fry. This town's full of desperate single ladies, it shouldn't be too hard."

"I don't want to," Fry argued.

"Well, maybe that's your problem."

"What do you mean?"

Leela sighed.

"How many people have you dated since you met me?" she asked.

"Hey!" Fry said defensively. "I dated loads of people. And, y'know . . . some girls. "

Leela rolled her eye.

"Sure thing, stud," she deadpanned. "Answer me this : how many of those relationships were your idea, and how many did you just fall into without thinking?"

Fry blinked.

"Well . . . there was Michelle . . ."

"Oh please," Leela scoffed. "You were the only thing she recognized when she fell out of that cryo-tube – that was the only reason she wanted to be with you! She dumped you quick enough for Pauly Shore, remember? Give me another."

"Whatsername, the mermaid. Umbriel."

"She was a _mermaid, _for Pete's sake. Who in the hell thought that would work? Keep going."

"What about Amy?"

Leela snorted. "The ship gets around less than she does. Let's not even go there."

"Uh . .. I guess Morgan Proctor doesn't really count?"

"That was sexual harrassment on her side and sheer pathetic-ness on yours. Next."

"Well . . . I really liked that Liu-bot I downloaded . . ."

Leela closed her eye, the way she always did when she was praying for salvation from his stupidity.

"It was a robot programmed to tell you things you wanted to hear. That was not a meaningful relationship, Fry. Next."

"Colleen, I guess. And then Yivo."

Leela's expression flickered, distorted for a second by genuine anger.

"No," she snapped. "Collen was a greedy slut, and Yivo was . . . a greedy slut, now that I think about it. And they both took advantage of you."

"What? No they didn't!"

Leela groaned. "Oh, lord, do I have to explain that too?" She poked him in the chest. "You were dying of oxygen-deprivation and depressed enough to leave the universe. Gee, you're right. You must have known _exactly_ what you were doing when you stuck a tentacle in your spinal cord and hooked Yivo up with our universe."

Fry flinched. Leela's sarcasm was caustic.

"Okay," he conceded. "So Yivo was a little . . . maybe I didn't know what I was doing. But Colleen and me was different. That was totally my call."

"She had four other boyfriends and you seriously considered staying. If that doesn't say 'I'm desperately lonely and have serious issues', I don't know what does. And if you think that little skank didn't zero in on your insecurities to feed her slutty ego, you're wrong. "

Fry threw his hands up in defeat.

"Fine!" he cried. "I'm a loser and all my relationships suck! Is there a point to this or are you just trying to make me feel bad?"

Bizarrely, this seemed to soften Leela. She sat down beside him on the couch.

"There was a point," she said gently. "Fry, your relationships suck because _you pick bad relationships_. I used to think that was just further proof you're a complete idiot, but now I'm not so sure. Now I think maybe you screw things up because you don't _want_ them to work out. You never have, because some part of you is so stubborn it won't give up on me. You keep hoping I'll change my mind somehow."

"You make that sound like a bad thing."

"It is. It's stopping you from moving on with your life." Leela gripped his hand fiercely. "You spend your whole life wishing and hoping, and this time there's nothing to hope for." She shook her head. "It's over, Fry. For once, just let it go. Please."

Fry stared at her. She wasn't going to back down, he realized. Not now, not ever. He was glad he was sitting down, because it felt like the world was spinning under his feet. Slowly, deliberately, he tugged his hand out of hers.

"I think you should go," he said numbly.

"I'm sorry," Leela said softly.

"I know. I still think you should go."

Fry somehow managed to stand up and open the door for her. He stood there rigidly, waiting for her to leave. Leela gathered up her coat. She looked worried, like she was going to tell him not to do something stupid, but Fry felt like he was looking at her through glass, like she was an actor on tv or a memory in his head. She was a million miles away and he was stuck in cold hard reality.

Alone.


	30. Chapter 30

A / N : Thanks gertie345!

* * *

><p>"Meatbag! Hey, meatbag. Wake up!"<p>

Someone was shaking him by the shoulder. _Bender_, Fry realized. He wondered dimly why the robot was trying to wake him up. He was awake already. His eyes were open anyway, even if he wasn't seeing all that much.

He blinked.

He was sitting on the couch, staring into space. He felt dizzy, and when he swallowed his throat was dry and sore, like he'd been crying.

_Oh, man. _

"How long were you shaking me for?" he managed.

Bender shrugged.

"Dunno. A while. You were pretty out of it." The robot lit a cigar and settled back against the couch. "So what gives?"

"Nothing," Fry mumbled.

He didn't remember Leela leaving. He didn't remember much after he told her to leave, now he thought about it. It had hurt too much.

Bender whistled.

He didn't have to say it for Fry to get the message : _I think you're nuts._

"If you say so, buddy. I only ask because while you were out of it on hormones or whatever you humans got, someone did a number on the apartment. Trashed the joint."

"Huh?"

Bender put a hand on the back of his neck and swung his room-mate's head 180 degrees, first one way, then the other, allowing Fry to take in the mess.

The delivery boy shook himself.

"Uh . . . I'm sorry. I don't know what happened, but I think . . . I think maybe it was me." He hung his head. "Did I wreck anything good?"

"Nah. Mostly just your crap. Oh, and this thing."

Bender waved something briefly in the air and dropped it out of sight again.

"What thing?" Fry asked.

The robot coughed again and tried to pass it off as a vigorous puff of his cigar.

"Hey," he said quickly. "Let's go shopping for a new TV. And by shopping, I mean stealing. I want to watch All My Circuits in Smell-o-vision."

This was unusually evasive for Bender. Fry narrowed his eyes, feeling suddenly nervous.

"What was the thing?" he persisted.

Bender held his gaze for about thirty seconds before giving in.

"Aw, fine," he muttered. "Stupid meatbags with their stupid emotions . . . It was this."

He dipped his arm over the edge of the couch again and came up holding the shards of Fry's holophonor. He dumped them in his friend's lap and moved a hasty six inches to the left. Fry ignored him.

The holophonor was beyond repair.

Fry ran his thumb over one jagged purple splinter, lost in thought. He had bought the instrument years ago, back when parasitic worms had overhauled his body and mind, and he could actually play the thing. That was the first time he'd been able to put words to the way he felt about Leela, and the first time she had ever looked at him as someone who could make her happy. But not knowing if she loved him or just the perfect thing the worms had made him into had freaked Fry out. He'd never been able to play it after that – until he swapped the Robot Devil's hands for his. That had been incredible. He'd been himself, but for the first time his hands could keep up with the music in his head. They'd moved faster than thought, pulling the feelings from somewhere inside him and turning them to chords, to pictures, to words - to everything he really felt, in a way someone else could understand. He had always felt closer to Leela when they didn't use words, and the holophonor . . . maybe it was just an instrument, but it felt like it understood that somehow. Better than that, it made _Leela_ understand.

He knew why he'd destroyed it – because now Leela did understand, and it didn't matter.

Bender intruded hesitantly on his thoughts.

"Sorry, buddy."

That was weird, because Fry was pretty sure Bender had been built without an empathy chip. It wasn't like him to care, unless it was his own feelings that got hurt.

Fry tossed the holophonor to one side and stood up.

"Let's go," he said.

"Go where? TV stealing?"

Fry shook his head.

"No," he said feverishly. "Let's just _go_. Somewhere, anywhere, I don't care. You've always wanted to go on an intergalactic crime spree, right? And I haven't even seen one tenth of the universe. I mean, there must be a billion planets I've never been to. A billion bars _you've _never been to. So let's just go!"

"We'd be like Bonnie and Clyde," Bender mused. "You'd be Bonnie."

"Yeah! C'mon!"

Bender sighed. "I can't, buddy. Maybe some other time."

"What? Why not?" Fry bounced up and down on his heels, agitated. "You said you wanted to!"

"Yeah, but I can't. I'm this close to sealing the deal with Amy. I'd be crazy to walk out on her now."

"What? But – but – you don't even love her!" Fry protested.

Bender rolled his eyes.

"Fry, I'm this close to becoming a millionaire without doing a thing. I'll never have an opportunity this great again! I don't even have to plan a heist! I'd be a chump to give it up now." He shrugged. "Anyways, I like Amy. She's cute and she's _nasty_."

Fry deflated. "Okay," he mumbled. "I get it."

He should have known Bender wouldn't agree. Fry might be his friend, but in Bender's eyes no-one mattered more than numero uno : Bender. There was no way Fry could compete with a share in the Wong family fortune. And definitely no way he was sleeping with Bender, so Amy trumped him twice over.

Still, the robot did seem kind of sorry about it.

"You want a beer?" he asked. Sharing his beer was the closest Bender got to being selfless.

"I guess."

Fry cracked open the proffered can and sucked at the froth that welled up.

"I'm going to clear my head," he announced. "You can call my cell if you need me or whatever."

Bender looked at him askance but didn't say anything. Not that there was anything he could say. He'd never really got Fry's feelings for Leela. He thought love was like a bug in your system ; a meme you played out over and over until the obsession wore off. He'd never understand how someone could get inside your head and become impossible to live without. There was no way he'd understand how Fry felt alone without Leela, like the best part of himself was missing. How nothing was the same without her. How everything was just better when she was there, and hollow when she wasn't.

And he'd never know what it was like to love someone so much you were willing to leave them.

* * *

><p>The night air stung his cheeks when he stepped out onto the sidewalk. Fall was definitely on the way ; Fry couldn't remember the last time he'd needed a jacket at night. (He usually wore his anyway, but he didn't actually <em>need <em>to. He just liked it.)

He walked without paying any heed to his surroundings. The background buzz of New New York went on around him. The swish and pop of transport tubes, the humming of a nearby hovercar, the hookers yelling obscenities . . . normally he found it comforting, but right now he hated it. Right now he hated everything.

"I hate my life," he mumbled, throwing his head back. "I hate my life, I hate my life, I hate my life . . ."

It wasn't completely true, but it was a better mantra than the one really running around his brain, which was _I love Leela. _So he stuck to it.

He stared up at the sky, letting it suck him in. How many stars were up there, anyway? How many planets? He wondered how long you could run for if you started, and how far you could get.

The delivery boy smiled grimly.

What the hell. He might as well start running.

He took off his jacket, shivering in the cool air, and tied it round his waist. Then he pulled a pen from his pocket and looked down at his chest. He chewed his cheek, concentrating on getting the letters right upside-down.

A-N-Y-W-H-E-R-E, he wrote.

Fry examined his handiwork, shrugged, and stepped up to the kerb.

He stuck out his thumb.


	31. Chapter 31

**A / N : Thanks Lady Bender, Already There, and ThatFlyingEagle for the reviews. (50? You guys, I die inside. I can't believe 50 people have even read this.)  
><strong>

**Now on to Leela, and that plus one she's in total denial about. Not for long!**

* * *

><p>Leela's landing was sloppy, but she was in too black a mood to care. She left the ship - pausing only briefly to scowl at the scratches she'd left in the paintwork - and headed straight to the canteen.<p>

"Hey, Leela," Amy said nervously.

"Hey," Leela said shortly, rummaging in the refrigerator. "Ugh. Don't we have anything worth eating in here?"

"There's coffee," her co-worker suggested.

Leela grimaced. "No. I mean food. It was a rough trip," she explained. "We ran into an asteroid belt and I must've hurled my entire body weight in vomit. I feel like I haven't eaten in days."

Amy laughed, but stopped when she caught Leela's expression.

"Sorry. I thought that was a joke."

"It wasn't."

"Oh. Well, I have some ice-cream in the freezer, and Fry probably left some Slurm somewhere, but if you want real food . . . oh." She trailed off, watching Leela combine the two. Her expression was somewhere between grossed-out and wistful. "You're going to eat that. Together."

Leela sat down opposite her and prodded her ice-cream island with her spoon. It melted a little as the sea of Slurm in the bowl fizzed at the edges. The concoction was a little gross, but food was food, and right now it was helping to settle her stomach.

"Actually it's not so bad," she admitted. "You want some?"

Amy shook her head and reluctantly looked away.

"No thanks. I can't afford to pork out. I'm presenting my thesis at the end of the week" - she gestured sadly at her computer screen - "and if they mark me on merit, I'm _never _gonna pass. My only hope is to look super cute when I turn it in. And maybe cry a little. I'll see how I feel." She closed her laptop. "So how was the delivery? Aside from the asteroid belt, globviously."

Leela's scowl returned.

"Awful. We had to deliver two thousand pizzas to a research station in the Tempus Nebula, and when we got there, those jackasses wouldn't pay."

"Jeepers. Why not?"

"According to them, they never ordered any pizza. And being humorless hyper-nerds, they would _never_ pull fratboy pranks on a delivery crew." Leela crushed her ice-cream forcefully with the back of her spoon. "They denied it even when we played them back the tape. So now the ship is full of cold pizza and my bank account is empty, which is just great. And the one person who's supposed to deliver pizza didn't bother to show up for work today." She pushed her bowl away. "So far my day's been peachy, Amy. Thanks for asking."

"You're welcome." Amy smiled. Either Leela's bitter sarcasm had bounced right off her, or she was choosing to ignore it. "Um, just . . two things." She edged out of hitting distance. "Why didn't you just eat the pizza, if you were hungry?"

Leela glared at her.

"Because I can't even look at those pizza boxes without wanting to kill someone," she snapped. "What was the other thing?"

Amy took a deep breath.

"Fry didn't show up for work because he quit. Days ago. I'm sorry, Leela. I thought Bender would have told you."

Leela's stomach dropped.

"He . . . what?"

"Yeah. He skipped out on Bender too. I'm not sure where he is." Amy frowned. "Are you okay?" she asked gently.

Leela nodded.

"I'm fine," she said. Her voice sounded like it was coming from far away. "I'm going to go watch TV," she mumbled.

Amy let her go without argument.

Leela's anger had drained away. It didn't seem important anymore. She felt dizzy instead, like someone had cut away one of her legs and she hadn't noticed until she started to fall over.

It was all her fault. She had told him to move on from her. What had she expected? The truth was that she should have seen this coming. But somehow she hadn't, and now she was left feeling unbalanced, like she was missing a part of herself. She didn't know where Fry was, she wasn't much more sure where Lars was, and she felt empty.

Channel Six was showing some dated legal drama. Leela stared at it blankly. It was ten minutes before she realized not one iota of the plot had entered her head. Her eye was burning and there was a lump in her throat like she might cry.

_Cry? Oh lord, not again._

She gave up pretending to watch a hot young lawyer fellate a judge, and lay down on the couch instead, staring up at the ceiling tiles.

She felt . . . alone.

She shut her eye.

She missed Lars. She missed the way he talked her to sleep at night, mumbling about tv commercials and famous peoples' heads until she gave up trying to shut him up and just drifted off. She missed waking up annoyed because he'd got a hold on her in the night and was sleepily refusing to let go. She missed giving up and letting his heartbeat lull her back to sleep, listening out for the little skips and glitches she knew like the back of her hand.

She missed Fry too. She missed what he did to her heart when he kissed her - that terrified, exciting, exhilarated feeling that was part her feelings and part Fry's feelings mixed up with her own. She missed the sweet stupid things he said sometimes. The way he looked at stars. The way he looked at _her_. She missed sitting on the couch with him doing absolutely nothing, and feeling happy for reasons she couldn't explain.

It was hard enough to miss one person that badly, never mind two.

The Professor was drilling something on the next floor, and the sound of college radio floated in from the next room, where Amy was supposed to be working on her thesis. Leela knew she should get up and do something about all that pizza before Zoidberg found it, but she didn't have the energy.

_I'll get up in a minute, _she told herself.

* * *

><p>She'd fallen asleep again.<p>

Leela knew this because she was on the brink of waking but her eyelid was as heavy as lead and her body seemed to have sunk six inches into the couch.

On the edge of her hearing, Hermes and Amy were having a whispered argument.

"I can't ask her that!" Amy was protesting. "She'll rip my head off and eat it, Hermes!"

Hermes chuckled. "I know. Oh Jah, do I know. But you are a woman. It might sound better coming from you. You know. More . . . tactful, as it were."

"Are you crazy? I'm not tactful!" Amy moaned. "Oh man, she'll kill me. There's no way I'm asking her."

"If only we could get Fry to do it," Hermes lamented.

Leela decided she'd had enough. She rubbed her eye and sat up, still feeling sluggish. Maybe she needed a workout – it wasn't like her to feel so drained.

She wiped the drool off her chin and glared at her co-workers.

"What are you arguing about?" she demanded. "And why did you let me sleep all afternoon? What's wrong with you?"

Her friends stared at her. Eventually Hermes held up one pudgy finger.

"One moment," he said brightly.

He put his other hand in his pocket and came up holding two straws.

"Fair is fair," he said to Amy.

"I guess so . . . oh, man!" The Martian girl pouted as she drew the short straw. "I can't believe this!"

"No do-overs," Hermes reminded her smugly. "Now if you'll excuse me, ladies, LaBarbara's curried goat is waiting for me."

He smiled smugly and ducked out, leaving Amy to moan in despair.

Leela stood up and stretched.

_Ugh. I definitely need a workout, _she thought, as she rubbed away the crick in her neck. She could use an energy boost, and she didn't like the way Amy was eying her figure.

"If there's a problem," she snapped, "spit it out."

_Zoidberg probably got into the pizza. Well, it's not like we had plans for it anyway. _

"Oh," Amy said nervously. "It's nothing, really . . . it's just . . ." She closed her eyes and crossed her fingers on both hands. "Are you pregnant?"

"_What?"_

The intern cringed away in terror.

"Hermes and I were thinking maybe you were pregnant," she stammered. "Because, um, your mood swings are giving us whiplash, and-"

"Amy," Leela interrupted. "I am not pregnant. And that's a low blow, even for you. If you think I'm putting on weight, you could just _say."_

The accusation made her angry and defensive for reasons she didn't really want to think about, but found herself thinking about now. She could hear Fry's voice in her head again, panting "Wait, wait!" when all she wanted was to stop talking, stop thinking, stop _caring_. And later she'd looked at that condom wrapper and wondered what was wrong with it, why it bothered her so much . . .

Maybe it was because she'd let her feelings for Fry boil over like that once before, and as hard as she tried, she couldn't remember a condom on that occasion.

But there must have been. There _must_ have been. She couldn't be pregnant.

Amy chewed her lip.

"Are you sure? Because you did say you and Lars were going to try for a baby that time, and your scary-face is _so_ not contradicting my point about the mood swings. You didn't do anything crazy like stop your birth control, right?"

Leela froze. Panic flooded her stomach, making her feel physically sick. She had to fight to overcome it.

"I'd know it if I was pregnant," she argued. "That was ages ago. If I was pregnant, I'd be -" She pulled up short but the sentence finished itself in her head anyway. "Late," she realized, horrified. "Oh, god. I'm late."

"It could be stress," Amy said doubtfully.

"Of course it's stress!"

"Okay . . . but just in case it's not . . . maybe we should do a test."

Leela glared at her. "Why would we do a test? I don't need a test. I'm not pregnant. I _can't_ be pregnant. I don't know why we're even talking about this."

She began to twist the end of her ponytail between her fingers, which had started to shake almost imperceptibly. She sat on them to make it stop.

Amy muttered something under her breath in strained-sounding Cantonese.

"Okay," she said brightly. She pulled out her laptop and typed in a few words. "I'll list a bunch of symptoms and you just say yes or no if you have them. Like a pop quiz! How's that?"

Leela wanted to drop the subject and never mention it again, but Amy clearly wasn't going to help with that. So she rolled her eye, feigning calm.

"Fine. Waste your time."

She picked up the TV remote and began to skip through the channels. The rapid motion was a good cover for her nervous hands.

"Fatigue," Amy started. "Oh come on, you definitely have that!"

"I fell asleep at work _one time," _Leela fumed.

The cyclops curled up on the couch, pretending not to notice Amy's skeptical expression. She tried to focus on All My Circuits, but even Calculon's hammy acting couldn't distract her from her heart, which was going haywire in her chest.

"Nausea or vomiting in the morning," Amy continued, "or at any other time of day."

She broke off reading and looked at Leela, who was struggling to keep her cool. A panicked inner voice had started up in her head. It wasn't saying much, but still – the inner chorus of '_no, no, no' _was pretty distracting.

"My parents live in the sewer," she managed at last, in a passably nonchalant tone. "And have you gotten a whiff of Zoidberg lately? He reeks."

Amy had enough sense not to push it.

"He is disgusting," she allowed. "How about this one : a strong sense of aversion to everyday smells, or a craving for certain foods?"

Leela hesitated. She didn't know why she was even admitting to this, but - "I have been a little disgusted by coffee lately," she confessed. "But it's probably that barista across the street. Her coffee tastes like crapswill."

"Yeah . . . she's cute though," Amy chirped. "Hey, are we not gonna mention the Slurm thing? You're drinking more of that stuff than Fry lately, and that's saying something."

"I . . . that's not . . ."

"Mood swings!" Amy continued, gleefully pushing ahead with the list. "Come on, there's no _way _you don't have those."

"I do not -" Leela began hotly, but she couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.

It was true. Her moods had been all over the place lately.

How many times had she over-reacted to something, and struggled to understand why she was feeling so emotional? How many times had she found herself crying or yelling, and not really understood why she was doing it? She could flip from being furious at Fry to loving him more than she could stand in sixty seconds flat. One minute she was sure she'd never forgive Lars for lying to her, the next she was overwhelmed with guilt and wished he'd yell back at her. She was still doing it - blaming her bizarre moods on her emotions without ever stopping to think that maybe it wasn't her emotions turning her into a crazy person, maybe it was her hormones.

"Heehee." Amy giggled, her attention already back on the list. "This one's weird. _Tender boobs_. I wonder if Kiffy ever had that . . ."

Leela ignored her.

"Amy?" she said faintly.

"Yeah?"

"Shut up and get me a test."

* * *

><p>Leela put the test on the coffee table and sat down beside Amy, chewing her nails.<p>

"How long do we have to wait?" she asked tersely.

Amy checked the packet.

"Says three minutes."

"Right. Okay. I can do that. Three minutes. No problem."

The silence spiraled. Leela worked her teeth around a hangnail on her thumb.

"It was one time," she said to fill the silence. "One time I'm not sure about. I might not even be right. I mean, Fry may be an idiot, but I'm not. We must have been careful. I wouldn't be that stupid. I couldn't be."

Amy looked at her askance.

"I thought you only slept with him once?"

Leela reddened.

"I don't know how it happened," she protested. "I was mad at him, we were alone . . . one thing just led to another somehow." _Please, please, _she thought, _don't let it have led somewhere else. _

Amy stretched out cat-like on the couch.

"Angry sex is hot," she yawned.

Leela ignored her. "I can't be pregnant," she insisted. "Even if we _did_ have unprotected sex, what are the odds? One in a couple of million? One in a billion? How unlucky would you have to be?"

Amy raised an eyebrow.

"As unlucky as Fry?" When this didn't raise a laugh she winced. "Sorry. Bad time to joke?"

Leela swallowed. Her stomach was tying itself in knots. She couldn't look at the test. What would she do if she was pregnant? She tried to think rationally about this possibility, but her brain kept backing away from it. The only feeling she could muster was abject terror.

"I can't have a baby," she mumbled. Something else struck her. "_Fry _can't have a baby."

If Leela couldn't picture herself as a parent there was no way she could imagine Fry as one. There were probably worse candidates for fatherhood, but right now the only one she could think of was Bender.

She was dimly aware of a commotion downstairs, the sound of running footsteps.

Amy tugged gently at her elbow.

"Leela," she said softly.

"I figured it out!" a distant voice was yelling. "I know what Nibbler meant . . . I need to find Leela!"

Lars burst through the door, waving a dictionary in one hand.

"I found the word," he panted. "Progeny, it means -"

He stopped.

"Baby," he murmured.

The three of them stared at the test, and Leela felt her world come crashing down.


	32. Chapter 32

**A / N : Thanks frogspell16860, Anna, Kaci, LadyBender, and ThatFlyingEagle!**

**This chapter turned out pretty long, but I didn't want to break it up. **

* * *

><p>"Um, congratulations," Amy said nervously.<p>

Leela said nothing. She just stared numbly at the test, trying to take it in. Lars sat down heavily, his knees buckling under him. He didn't say anything – probably because he was trying to get his breath back, but whatever the reason, Leela was grateful for the silence.

Amy had brought up her personal-planner hologram and was counting back from the date on the test. Leela watched the days zip past dispassionately. She knew where they were going to stop, after all.

"Aw," Amy said. "That's so cute! You got pregnant on the day of my engagement party!"

Lars sighed.

Amy frowned.

"Wait, that's not cute! Fry was with me and Bender that whole day. He never even left my apartment. I remember because he spent the whole time complaining. And because he crashed on my couch, and messed up my closet . . ." She tailed off as the only logical solution presented itself. "Ew! Leela!"

"Sorry."

"But . . . my closet? That's so gross!"

Leela's emotional numbness faded a little as annoyance-at-Amy bubbled up to replace it.

"Get over it," she snapped.

"She doesn't mean that," Lars murmured. "She's just lashing out at you."

"I meant it," Leela objected. She was about to expound on Amy's long history of being a slutty tramp, but Amy was already nodding in an infuriatingly sanguine manner.

"It's okay," she said. "I know you don't mean it. You're just freaking out, Leela. It's only natural."

She gave her a quick, comforting squeeze.

Leela stiffened at this unwarranted invasion of her personal space. As far as she was concerned, her relationship with Amy was not a hugging one.

Now that she thought about it, the only friend she'd ever felt comfortable hugging was Fry. Years of bullying in the orphanarium had left her more comfortable hitting people than hugging them, but Fry had slipped past her defenses somehow. The first time he'd hugged her she'd been taken by surprise, confused to find herself relaxing instead of tensing up. She'd been careful never to tell him that, of course, but sometimes when she was feeling down she would find an excuse to touch him, or just sit beside him and hope he'd reach out. (Which was, admittedly, pathetic. How the hell had she not known she was in love with him?)

Still, Amy meant to be reassuring and it wasn't fair to take it out on her because she wasn't Fry. So Leela tolerated the hug for a good thirty seconds before giving way to her instincts and muttering "I'm not really a hugger."

"Sorry." Amy broke away. She cleared her throat with a cutesy sound that made Leela want to hit her. "Do you want to talk about how you're f-"

"_No. _Don't ask me about my feelings," Leela interrupted, more aggressively than she'd intended to. "The _last _thing I want to talk about is my feelings, and the last person I'd _want_ to talk about them with is -"

She stopped, distracted by a little snapping sound near her ear. The hiss of Slurm fizzing out of the can was unmistakeable.

Lars held out the can to her.

"I'm not thirsty," Leela snapped, but her mouth had started to water involuntarily, and she couldn't remember what she'd been about to tear into Amy for. Lars pushed the can gently into her hand and watched her start to drink it automatically. He smiled.

"Definitely Fry's baby."

Leela spluttered and he laughed.

"Amy, could you leave us alone?" he asked. "Leela and I need to talk."

Amy sagged with relief. "Sure thing! I'll leave you guys to it."

She hurried out and Lars took her vacated spot on the couch. Leela looked at him sidelong.

"You're taking this awfully well."

Lars shrugged.

"This is partly my fault," he said. "Even I can see that." He hesitated. "Did you only agree to have a baby so I'd shut up about it?"

Leela felt her face burn.

"Not only. But . . . mostly." She was ashamed to admit it, but there was no point trying to save face now. "I was hoping I'd have got used to the idea by the time my biological clock caught up. I thought I'd have a year, or at least a couple months . . ."

She'd been so complacent, and so afraid of losing him she could hardly think straight. In short, she'd been stupid.

"Oh." Lars scratched his cheek. "Well . . . I wasn't completely honest with you about that either. When I said I wanted a baby with you because I loved you, it was the truth . . . but it wasn't all of the truth." He looked down at his feet. "I wanted to have a family again," he said quietly. "I missed it."

_Family. _The word struck a sharp, resonant note in Leela's chest.

"Fry's gone," she blurted out. She didn't know what made her say it, but the word 'family' had made her think of him. "He could be anywhere by now and I don't – I can't – I don't know what to do."

Lars touched her arm gently.

"It's okay," he said. "He's just acting out. He'll be back."

Leela jerked away, agitated.

"You don't understand. I don't think he's coming back."

Lars studied her expression.

"You two had a row?" he hazarded.

"You could say that."

"Right, right." Lars sighed. "So he's hurt," he said. "That doesn't mean he won't come back. He'll just get drunk and do something stupid, like join a cult, or join an army, or join a new religion." He shrugged. "He likes joining things. Still," he reassured her, "it always works out in the end."

Leela groaned. She didn't even want to think about what Fry might end up doing without her or Bender to keep an eye on him. She stared down at her hands. She had worked her parents' bracelet free and was twisting it nervously around her wrist. The action was a comfort somehow.

"I told him he was wasting his life waiting for me to come around," she admitted quietly. "I also may have made some comments about his past relationships that were a little unfair. I mean, they were true . . . but I probably shouldn't have said them."

Lars grimaced.

"Look," he said at last. "He'll come back. Don't get me wrong - he'll come back a lot faster if you go get him - but either way, he's coming back." He nudged her shoulder. "He'll miss you too much."

Leela frowned.

"You don't know that," she argued, but Lars laughed.

"Yeah, I do," he reminded her. "Trust me. He'll drive himself crazy trying to be happy without you."

Leela looked at him. His face was lined and weather-beaten, but when he talked like that, it was impossible not to see Fry in him. It hurt.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

Lars shrugged. "Me too."

"I thought I could handle this," Leela admitted. "I thought I was doing the right thing, but all I've done is make things worse."

Lars nodded miserably.

"I know. I thought I was doing the right thing too," he told her. "But I don't even know what the right thing is anymore."

They sat in mutual, miserable silence.

Lars was the one to break it.

"So . . . a baby."

"A baby," Leela echoed. It didn't seem real.

She stared down at her stomach and tried to picture it. There was a baby inside her. Right now. Floating about like a tadpole. She couldn't quite grasp it. It was funny, really – whenever she'd thought about motherhood in the past, she'd imagined an instant bond, some sweeping surge of love for her unborn child that would throw everything else into perspective.

All Leela felt was sick and lonely.

Lars seemed to notice how zoned-out she was.

"I'm taking you home," he announced out of the blue.

"Huh?"

"You need to rest," he told her gently. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you look terrible. Come on."

Leela let him lead her out. She felt like she was sleep-walking. It was only when she stumbled against a garbage can that she realized she was leaning on Lars for support. She went to pull away, alarmed, but Lars simply tucked her arm back under his.

"It's okay," he murmured.

"Is it?" Leela said blankly.

Lars sighed.

"Try sleeping on it," he suggested. "Everything seems better in the morning."

_I'll still be pregnant in the morning, _Leela thought. _Fry will still be Lord knows where. How could things possibly be any better in the morning?_

But she didn't say it.

"Maybe you're right," she said instead.

Lars smiled wryly.

"It'd be the first time if I was."

He let them into the house and steered her into the bedroom automatically, sitting her down on the bed with an unselfconscious ease that suggested he'd forgotten he didn't live here anymore, and had no idea this was weird. Not that Leela could bring herself to voice an objection. She sat like a zombie as he tugged off her boots.

"Contact," he said softly.

Leela took it out obediently.

"It wouldn't be," she told him suddenly.

"What?"

"It wouldn't be the first time you were right," Leela clarified. "You're right more than you know. More than I ever gave you credit for."

Lars laughed. "I doubt it."

He lay her down and draped a blanket over her shoulders.

"It's true," Leela said blearily. "You were right about so many things, but I couldn't stand to admit it. I was too stubborn, or too scared, I don't know . . ."

She could feel her eyelid beginning to droop already ; her overstressed, hormone-ravaged body kept trying to shut her down for rest and repair.

"Me, right?" Lars laughed. "You must be thinking of someone else. You should get some rest."

Leela shook her head, annoyed. She was bone-tired, that was true, but she wasn't an idiot. She knew what she was saying.

"You were right about Adlai Atkins," she yawned. "Remember him?"

"He was a creep. And anyone could have told you you were fine the way you were."

Leela forced her eye open. He was missing the point, the way she'd missed it all those years ago.

"Anyone could have," she argued. "No-one else _did._"

Lars sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Well, okay," he said. "Maybe I was right once. That doesn't mean-"

"You stopped me shooting my parents," Leela interrupted.

"But anyone w-"

"You gave me the last of your oxygen," Leela interrupted again. "You nearly died . . . do you remember that?"

She was getting so tired. She hadn't eaten anything more substantial than Slurm and ice-cream all day, and all sleeping had done was make her more tired. But if she didn't say this now, while her defenses were down, then maybe she never would.

"Do you remember?" she said thickly.

"Of course I remember," Lars said quietly. He touched her hair. "It's not important, Leela. Get some rest."

Leela could feel her eyelid sagging, the fight against sleep becoming futile. But she fought anyway, because Leela had never given into anything without a fight.

"It is important," she argued. "It always was."

Lars said nothing.

"You talked me out of a coma," Leela reminded him. "You wouldn't stop waking me."

"I _couldn't_ stop," Lars said hoarsely.

"You got rid of the worms . . ." Leela could feel herself falling asleep. She felt as if the words were floating outside her, and it was a struggle to put them in the right order. "You gave up the Robot Devil's hands," she managed. "For me. You did that."

"I know."

Leela nodded. Maybe he did understand.

"You always do the right thing when it matters, Fry," she mumbled.

* * *

><p>Leela woke with a start.<p>

It was dark, and someone was banging at the back door. Hammering, actually.

"Lars?"

The banging stopped abruptly and Lars appeared, holding a hammer.

"Uh, hey."

"Hi. What time is it?" Leela asked, bewildered.

Lars squinted at the clock.

"Uh . . . 4."

"In the morning?"

"Yeah. Sorry. I couldn't sleep."

"And you couldn't just read a book or something?" Leela caught sight of his bewildered expression and remembered who she was talking to. "What are you doing?"

"Nailing up the cat flap." Lars gestured lazily with the hammer, and almost dropped it on his foot.

Leela stared at him.

"Why?" she asked at last.

"I, uh . . . thought I heard a possum."

"A possum."

"Yeah."

"So you nailed up the cat flap? In the middle of the night?"

"Yes."

Leela frowned. "That's insane," she told him. "You know Nibbler uses that cat-flap. He's going to be really annoyed when he gets back from . . ." She paused. "Wherever he is. I'm actually not sure about that."

With everything else crowding her mind, she hadn't had time to think too deeply about Nibbler's disappearance. But thinking about him now nudged another memory to the forefront of her mind. _"I know what Nibbler meant!" _That was what Lars had been yelling back at Planet Express.

"Wait," she interrupted herself. "Nibbler knew I was pregnant? _And he told you instead of me?" _

This additional betrayal felt like a blow. Nibbler, Fry, Lars, her parents . . . it felt like everyone she loved had started to betray her. Not all of them were huge betrayals, but each one chipped away at her sense of certainty. Her world had shifted slightly with each new discovery, and now she hardly knew where she stood.

"He didn't really tell me," Lars said hastily. "He just kind of hinted."

"I can't believe him!"

"Sorry."

Leela shook her head. "I can't believe he would keep this from me."

"Me either," Lars said tightly.

Leela glanced at him. He was hard to see from here, but it looked as though his expression was rigid and angry. It was the look he'd worn when Nudar threatened her life, and Leela couldn't think why he was wearing it now. Nibbler wasn't a threat, after all. She must be imagining it, she decided at last.

Lars moved out of the shadows and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Leela shrugged.

"I've been better." She glanced at Lars. "You're bleeding," she noticed.

"Huh?" He looked down. "Oh, yeah . . . the hammer slipped. It doesn't matter. Stuff like that is always happening to me."

Lars wiped his bleeding hand on his shirt, leaving a rusty red stain on the blue fabric. It made Leela think of a target for some reason. A bullseye, or a bullet wound. She hated it instinctively.

"You should be more careful," she told him.

Fry had always been clumsy, but he was graceful compared to Lars. It was getting worse too. Leela couldn't help noticing. It seemed like he had a lucky escape or an unfortunate accident every other day. Maybe it was the stress of lying to her all that time that had made him seem so distracted? Still, he wasn't lying now, and the problem didn't seem to be going away.

Leela sat up and looked at him more closely. She put out a hand and touched a nick in the hollow of his throat.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Cut myself shaving."

Leela nodded. She gestured at the cut on his scalp. "And?"

"Guillotine. I was in the Professor's lab." Lars shifted uncomfortably. "I told you, this stuff happens all the time. I must be clumsy."

Leela nodded again, but she couldn't shake off her unease completely.

Lars seemed to pick up on it.

"I'll be more careful," he reassured her.

There wasn't much Leela could say to this, so she let it drop. She had bigger things to worry about anyway.

"Have you thought about what you're going to do?" Lars asked gently.

Leela swallowed, feeling suddenly sick again.

"Tell Fry, I suppose," she said. "I can't not tell him."

She took a deep breath and forced herself to look Lars in the eye. She had to ask. One way or another, she needed to know.

"Can he do this?" she asked quietly. "I need the truth, Lars."

Lars sat quiet for a while, mulling it over. At last he sighed.

"Look," he said. "He's a kid. You know it and I know it. I remember _being _him, and this is going to scare the crap out of him. But I think he is that way because he never had to be anything else. He never needed to grow up."

"I tell him to grow up all the time," Leela said, annoyed.

Lars laughed. "Yeah, but that's just background nagging. It doesn't really register."

"Great."

Lars frowned.

"When I first went back to my time," he told her, "I was miserable. I missed you and Bender and I felt like . . . like I didn't fit there anymore. And I couldn't tell anyone. I mean, who would have believed I spent eight years in the 31st Century? No-one. They'd think I was crazy."

He laughed sadly.

"I was falling apart. And then one day I saw this little orphan narwhal on the news. She was all alone and I guess I took a liking to her, because I went to the aquarium and told them I'd do anything if I could work with her. Her name was Leelu."

He smiled fondly.

"Anyway . . . she needed me. She had no family and she wouldn't even eat properly at first. But then she did - for me. It was like a miracle. I still don't know how I got her to do it. But she meant everything to me. I felt better around her, like I had a purpose, like I didn't have to pretend or explain or feel so . . . alone, I guess. I loved her, so when she needed something, I did it. I learned to swim and I held down a job and I even ate raw fish. It was gross, but I didn't care. It was worth it for her." He was silent for a beat.

"I grew up," he said at last. "For her. And if I can do it, Fry can do it."

Leela wasn't sure a narwhal was the same as a baby, but it was the only hope she had, so she clung to it.

"I hope you're right."

She still couldn't think of the baby as a solid thing, but for the first time, she felt a flicker of protectiveness towards it. _I won't ever let you feel alone, _she promised it. _Not like I did. _

"What happened to Leelu?" she asked eventually.

Lars blinked.

"Huh? Oh. I set her free. She didn't belong with me, not really. One day I just had to let go."

Leela felt a lump form in her throat. Maybe it was the cute animal aspect of the story, or maybe it was her crazy new hormone level, but she could feel herself tearing up.

"That's heartbreaking," she said tearfully.

Lars frowned. He reached out tentatively and squeezed her hand.

"No," he said slowly. "It's not. It's just life, Leela."

His hand was warm and comforting on hers; the thumb faintly callused from years of video games. It was Fry's hand, and Leela wondered - not for the first time - how she'd never noticed it. Fry's hands were usually sticky, but that was really the only difference. It stirred up feelings in her she couldn't even begin to explain, so she defined them as "confusion" and pulled away her hand.

She lay back down, feigning tiredness so Lars wouldn't notice. The morning sun was starting to light the room around them, but Lars didn't question her.

"Life," Leela echoed.

She let her hand drift to her stomach, feeling self-conscious and strange. Well, that was life alright. She made bad decisions and Fry made stupid ones - only this time they'd taken it too far, and created something that went beyond either of them. A brand new, unexpected _life. _


	33. Chapter 33

**A / N : Thanks Kaci, person who likes, Jack Frost lover cadi93, LadyBender and frogspell16860 for the reviews. It looks like I got a bunch more likes and follows too, but I'm not sure how to view those on here, so I'll just say thanks and hope you guys know who you are!**

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><p>"Are you okay? Hey . . . wake up!"<p>

Fry groaned.

He was lying face-down in the dirt, and someone was prodding him. And somehow shaking him with both hands at the same time. Maybe it was more than one person? That made more sense. Fry groaned again, louder this time, and the shaking stopped.

"Sorry," the same anxious voice said.

Fry pried his eyes open. He was met with an arid, orange-hued landscape, like a desert. The sky was orange-hued too, and the patch of vegetation he could make out in the distance was purple and jungle-like. _Mars, _he decided._ Probably_. He forced himself into a sitting position. His mouth tasted like Nibbler's poop tray and his skin was hot and inflamed to the touch. It looked like Zoidberg might look if you cracked open his shell and boiled him in hot water. _Sunburn, _he thought_. _But the sun was starting to go down. He must have been out here all day.

"Thanks for waking me," he mumbled.

His savior turned out to be a young Neptunian guy. Fry figured he was Neptunian, anyway. He looked the same species as Elzar – purple skin, four arms, and a snout-like nose. This guy was much younger though, and his build was slighter. He had straight, lank hair, sharp cheekbones, and large round eyes, which blinked nervously at Fry from behind equally round glasses. Nervousness seemed to be his general disposition. He was sweating in the Martian heat, and his glasses kept sliding down his nose. _Nerd, _Fry decided, and immediately felt more comfortable. He knew where he stood with nerds. They were mostly smarter than him, but his encyclopaedic knowledge of Star Trek tended to win their respect, so they didn't sneer at him too much.

"I thought you were dead," the unknown nerd said.

"Sorry." Fry cradled his forehead in his hands. It felt like his skull was splitting in two. "I guess I must've scared you."

The Neptunian nodded.

"It happens out a lot out here," he said. "Especially with humans. People get drunk and leave the casino - but if you pass out in the open you can die of dehydration."

"Oh. Well, I'm glad I didn't do that."

Fry tried to sit up. He managed it on the third attempt.

"Uh . . . wait a minute . . . casino?" This didn't sound familiar.

"Mars Vegas." The nerd gestured in the other direction. "Isn't that where you came from?"

"I don't remember. I hitched a ride with some guy," Fry muttered. "He pushed me out. I think because I drank all the beer in his cooler, but I don't remember much. Maybe he just didn't like me."

The nerd stared.

"Well . . . I'm Gomez," he said. He stuck out a hand. "What's your name?"

Fry opened his mouth to tell him, but the word wouldn't come out. 'Fry' was what Leela called him. He only had to think it to see her saying it a hundred different ways, and that hurt.

"Phil," he said instead, but it tasted funny in his mouth. Fry didn't know why – it was his name, it had always been his name – but it didn't feel like it fit him any more. Still, he had to be something.

"But you can call me Yancy," he blurted out. It was his brother's crummy name, but stealing Yancy's name for once seemed like fun. Besides, it was all he could think of.

"Hey, Yancy."

Gomez reached down, wrapped two surprisingly strong arms around Fry, and hauled him to his feet.

"You were hitching?" he said curiously. "You running away from something?"

Fry shrugged. It seemed he wasn't drunk or dehydrated enough to drive Leela from his mind.

"Someone," he admitted. "Her name's Leela."

Her name felt worse than his to say. He could see her all over again as he said it, like her face was tattooed onto his eyeballs.

Actually, eyeball tattoos would probably hurt less than this.

"Oh." Gomez stuck two of his hands in his pockets. "Crazy ex?" he ventured.

"No." Fry swallowed. "I love her."

"And she hates your guts?"

"No . . ." Fry hesitated, unsure how much of this messed-up story he was willing to tell. "She's married," he said. "And I sort of slept with her . . . a few times."

Gomez grimaced. He looked furtively at the ground.

"If it makes you feel any better," he said at last, "I'm running away too. My parents own a huge methane pocket on Neptune," he explained. "We've been mining it for generations and I'm supposed to take over but I can't do it. I hate mining. Methane makes me sneeze, and I get claustrophobic in my closet."

"Sucks," Fry commiserated.

"Yeah. So I thought I'd come work a minimum wage job at a casino. Maybe in twenty years I'll have enough to buy my parents out of the mine, and they won't be so mad." He adjusted his glasses again, blinking worriedly. "That's a good idea, right?"

Fry shrugged.

"I 'unno."

They limped toward the casino complex, Fry still leaning heavily on the nerdy Neptunian.

"So, uh . . . could I stay with you?" he asked. "I'm broke."

Gomez smiled. He tried to hide his enthusiasm, but it was obvious he liked the idea.

"Sure!" he said. "Hey, I could get you a job in the casino too. They're always looking for bellhops. They burn out real fast."

He performed a quick, impromptu mime – glugging back liquor ; snorting something ; throwing money or chips on the table ; crying ; raising an imaginary shotgun to his head.

Fry nodded to show he got it. The picture Gomez was painting was no more depressing than the reality he was running away from. Besides, it might work out. Gambling wasn't really Fry's thing, but he'd spent enough time around Bender to know how it worked, and to recognize the most common scams. He wouldn't see as much of the universe as he had as a delivery boy, but he could probably do it, and anyway . . . he was down to his last dime. He didn't have much of a choice.

He stared up at the sky.

The sun was going down. Maybe it had gone down already on Earth. Or maybe not. Maybe that wasn't how it worked? But anyway, _at some point,_ that sun had been shining on Leela. The same sun.

Maybe she'd looked at it. Maybe she'd missed him.

Fry stared at it until his eyes watered, and tried to pretend he didn't miss her too.

* * *

><p>It turned out Fry wasn't the first drifter Gomez had taken on. The Neptunian had been working at Mars Vegas for a year, and had become lonely enough to lend his couch to any off-worlder who wanted a bed. As far as Fry could make out, these had included : a 300 pound trucker who'd gambled away a DOOP arms shipment and spent 24 hours frantically trying to win it back ; a Trisolian runaway with dreams of being a burlesque dancer ; and a former blernsball couch suspected of dealing Nectar to his high school team.<p>

"No-one lasts long out here," Gomez explained miserably. "They burn out or skip out or get dragged out by the cops after a couple of weeks. Most of them are crazy, but it's someone to talk to, y'know?"

Fry shrugged. "I guess."

He'd been there two weeks when he met Xandri. He was bartending at the casino and she was drunk, slumped over a stool and trying not to retch as she forced down shots. She was young – maybe nineteen – and human, with blond cornrows, lilac-colored lipstick, and perspex bangles stacked up to her elbows on both arms. She was a student at Mars University, but had run away after a bad break-up with her boyfriend. She'd stolen his moped, hawked it for cash, and headed to the casino to forget all about him.

She wasn't doing a great job.

"He was always trying to control me," she slurred. "Y'know? And I was _done._ You know what I mean?"

Fry shrugged, wiping off an empty glass with a rag.

"I guess."

"You're sweet." Xandri smiled drunkenly. "You're so sweet. You're my friend."

She wrapped her fingers around his collar and pulled him over the bar top into a sloppy, drunken kiss.

She kissed him, and Fry felt . . . nothing. She tasted like the blue colorant in alcopops, he thought vaguely. She was all wrong, and the longer the kiss lasted, the worse he felt.

He wanted Leela.

It was a physical ache, like a pulled tooth. Leela had been right – sleeping with her _had _been a bad idea. Fry had never needed anyone like this before. It was agony, and leaving her hadn't dulled the pain any.

He pushed Xandri away.

"I . . . I think we should just be friends," he said awkwardly.

Fortunately, she seemed too drunk to be offended by this. Or maybe Fry just wasn't much of a catch. Either way, she nodded.

"Okay. Friends. Friends!"

She shook his hand enthusiastically and winked. (One of her eyelids drooped anyway, which was about as coordinated as anyone would be after that much alcohol.)

"Friend?" she slurred. "I'm broke. Can I have some tequila? Please? Pretty please?"

Fry poured them both a double and downed his, feeling miserable again. Xandri swallowed her own tequila eagerly, only to puke it back up a moment later. She groaned.

"Tha' one doesn't . . . count."

Fry spent the rest of the night refilling her glass. He matched her shot for shot, but it seemed he couldn't even get drunk the right way any more. The alcohol wasn't making him drunk or happy – it just made him cranky and depressed. He was glad when Xandri stopped talking.

The bar fell quiet around four in the morning. Fry gave up his attempts to build a house of cards out of beer mats (he kept knocking them over) and took one last swig of tequila from the bottle. It burned his throat going down, and the room lurched. By now he'd forgotten everything except Leela. He had the feeling this was the opposite of his original intention, but couldn't remember why that mattered. Couldn't form any coherent thought at all, if he was honest. If Leela had suddenly showed up he wouldn't even have been able to talk to her, but that was okay. Talking wasn't what he wanted to do.

It took him a while to realize Gomez was there, and was talking to him. The Neptunian must have come off the night shift. He was helping Xandri up and he seemed to be mad at Fry. For serving her? For not noticing she'd passed out? Who knew? Fry shrugged. In his experience, someone was always mad at him for _something. _It was a waste of time to get specific.

Whatever the reason his friend was mad, the net result was that he gave Xandri the couch. Fry spent the night on the floor, and dreamed of Leela. He dreamed they were fighting. Dream-Leela was mad at him for something he didn't remember doing, and when he told her he loved her she got angry and called him a child.

He woke up in a pool of tequila sick, feeling lonelier than ever.


	34. Chapter 34

**A / N : I meant to post this a few days ago but there was a heatwave and I was lazy. I went outside with beer instead of staying in and typing up more fic. (I know, not living up to my username here. Bite me.) **

**Does anyone know if there's a chapter limit for stories on this site? This looks like it's going to be long and I'm thinking I should maybe split it or do a sequel. **

**Thanks to , Anna, Guest, Already There, child who is cool, and cartoonlover27 for the reviews! (Saffron : that was one of my favorite lines to write. Thanks!)**

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><p>"Leela. Leela."<p>

Leela groaned. She had fallen asleep again. She'd been doing it for the past two weeks. In front of the TV, at the breakfast table . . . then she'd woken up to find her cheek stuck to the side of the ship. She'd been snoring, oblivious, on the wing, as the hose drooped in her hand and water began to fill her boots. After that Lars and the crew had conspired to stop her flying, for everyone's safety. So now she was grounded, stuck watching daytime television and trying to stay awake long enough to stop Lars worrying.

"I'm awake," she mumbled. "I'm awake. I was just resting my eye."

She sat up slowly, having learned the hard way that sudden movements tended to make her vomit. Her morning sickness was getting worse and worse. It lasted all day now, and none of the remedies Amy had looked up on the internet – ginger, peppermint tea, eating breakfast, skipping breakfast, yogalates – seemed to help.

"What is it?"

She blinked away the sleep in her eye and Lars came into focus. He must have just come in from outside. He was damp, and he smelled like a mixture of city rain and the falafel stand on the corner, where he must have stopped for lunch. He had dressed carelessly. The collar of his shirt was crumpled and the two stains on his pants (yellow mustard and blue ink, respectively) marked them out as the pair he'd been wearing yesterday. Two of his fingers were splinted and taped together. There was probably some crazy story behind that, but right now Leela had bigger things on her mind.

"You found Fry," she said hopefully.

It was a wild guess, but it still hurt when Lars shook his head.

"No," he said. "He hasn't been by the circus, or the merchant marines, or any of the top five escort agencies, and there aren't any good cults in town. I'm running out of ideas here." He hesitated. "He doesn't have a hovercar. If he hitched a ride with someone, he could be anywhere."

Leela swung her legs off the couch and sat up properly.

"I could put out a warrant for his arrest," she mused. "He's complicit in at least nine crimes. Insurance fraud, concealing stolen goods, associating with a known felon . . ."

Lars raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Bender committed insurance fraud?"

"No, I did."

"Oh." Lars sat down. "Well, I woke you because Bender was looking for you. He's-"

"Hey, big boots!"

Bender entered the room so quickly Leela could only assume he'd been listening outside. He elbowed Lars out of the way and took the spot next to Leela on the couch.

"You look like something the cat sicked up," he said conversationally.

Leela scowled and aimed a punch at his chest compartment. It left a good-sized dent, but Bender didn't seem to mind.

"Still true," he said smugly.

Leela sighed.

"What do you want, Bender?"

To her surprise the robot avoided her gaze, looking suddenly bashful.

"Amy says I should be nicer to you, seeing as you've got Fry's junk in your trunk and all."

Great. Amy was feeling sorry for her.

"You really don't have to," Leela said shortly. "Are we done here?"

Bender squirmed.

"Aw, jeez . . . look, if you tell anyone this I'll deny it . . . but Fry's crazy about you, and I don't _hate_ you. I mean, you're not on the Do-Not-Kill list or anything, and if there was a zombie apocalypse I'd totally sacrifice you . . . but not right away. You see what I'm trying to say?"

Leela blinked.

"Bender, that's so sweet. I'm touched."

"Ugh. Don't get soppy on me, eyeball!"

"I'm not."

Leela pretended to adjust her cushion and sternly squashed the urge to cry. _Damn you, hormones, _she thought hopelessly. _Bender is not cute. He's a sociopathic, soulless kleptomaniac. Get a hold of yourself!_

If Bender thought her eye was unusually shiny when she turned back around, he was wise enough not to comment on it. He poked her curiously in the stomach.

"So . . . is it a Leela or a Fry you're cooking in there?"

Leela swatted him away.

"It's not cooking there. It's a lot lower down. _Don't touch." _She slapped the robot's hand. "And you're thinking of clones. It doesn't work like that."

"It doesn't, huh? So, if it's not a Leela and it's not a Fry, what is it? What's the blueprint?"

"It's something else. A little of both of us, I suppose. There's not really a blueprint. At least, not the kind you're thinking of."

"Hmm." Bender mulled this over. "Sounds sloppy. You humans call that creation?"

"For want of a better word."

"Amateurs." Bender snorted derisively. A new thought struck him. "Will it be as annoying as Cubert?"

"No!"

Leela and Lars had spoken at the same time, mutually outraged. They made eye contact briefly, reddened, and quickly looked away. Bender didn't seem to notice.

"Whatever," he said dismissively. "Anyhow, I made you this card to show you there are no hard feelings. Here."

He pressed the card into her hand.

"Uh . . . thanks," Leela said.

She and Lars stared down at the card, at a loss for something better to say.

"_'Congratulations On Your Impending Bastard_'," she read aloud. "That's so . . . so . . ."

"I made it myself," Bender told her.

"I can tell."

"And that's Calculon's signature I forged on the inside there. That's worth forty bucks on eBay."

"I don't know what to say."

Bender grinned and pulled a beer out of his compartment.

"It's the greatest card you ever got and you know it," he said easily. "Wanna toast the occasion with a beer?"

Leela frowned. "Bender, I'm pregnant. I can't drink alcohol."

The robot stared at her in disbelief.

"You can't?"

"No."

Bender whistled.

"Wow. Your life just got even suckier." He glugged down his beer. "Well, I'm bored now. I'm gonna go check if Fry came home. Maybe he's hiding in the crapper. I haven't looked there in a few days. Hold on buddy," he hollered. "I'm comin'!"

He rushed out. Leela sighed and settled back into the couch. It took a minute for her to realize she'd actually settled back against Lars, who was toying with her fingers as he thought.

"He must really miss Fry," he said sadly.

"Huh?" Leela started. She'd been listening to Lars' heart. For a moment it had been all she wanted to hear. "Oh, you mean Bender," she said guiltily. "Yes. Yes, he must."

She pulled away with an effort. She felt a pang in her chest, watching her husband's hand close on empty air, but told herself it was better this way. For all of them.

Leela drew her knees up, curling into a defensive ball on the far side of the couch.

"Why haven't you told him?" she asked.

"That I'm Fry?" Lars shrugged. "I don't know. I don't want to. Besides, I'm not the Fry he wants." He shot her a questioning look. "Why haven't you told anyone?"

"I don't know. I guess I don't want to." Leela hesitated. "Is that weird?"

"Everything about this is weird," Lars pointed out.

"Good point." The cyclops chewed her lip. "Do you think we should tell people?" she asked.

Lars shrugged.

"Not really. I mean, we know, and Fry knows, and your parents know. How many more people need to know?" He paused. "But I'm used to not telling people, and it hasn't worked out too well. Maybe it's a bad habit."

Leela couldn't deny this.

"Maybe," she admitted.

"But you don't want to tell people either," Lars said.

It wasn't an accusation. It was more like he was testing the waters, probing to see how she felt.

The trouble was, she didn't know.

"I think we should leave it a while," Leela decided at last. "At least until we know how Fry feels. It only seems fair to ask him. This is his mess as much as ours."

Lars nodded.

"That makes sense. I'll keep looking." He stood up to leave. "Don't worry," he said awkwardly. "We'll find him."

Leela smiled.

"Of course we will. I'm not worried," she lied, and if Lars suspected it was a lie, he was wise enough not to comment.


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N : Thanks kaci, cartoonlover27 and saffronraymiecorinna for the reviews. (Saffronraymie : No, it hasn't been asked before. I definitely think Fry has synesthesia. And . . . haha. Yeah, you should wait and see about him and Leela. I don't want to give away too much but they're both about to get in a whole world of trouble.)**

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><p>Fry was pretty sure his roommates liked each other. <em>Liked <em>liked each other. He would usually be the first person to admit he was oblivious to sexual tension (if Leela wasn't around to admit it for him) but the evidence was starting to stack up.

Gomez hardly said two words to Xandri, but when she was in the room he stared at her like his eyeballs were about to fall out, and if she started to do anything, he jumped up right away to help. He had insisted Fry let her sleep on the couch every night, despite the fact that Fry grumbled about it – loudly, and often. He kept cleaning stuff, and now the kitchen was full of Lucky Charms, because Xandri had had targeted advertising in her dreams and woke up one morning singing the cereal jingle. So, obviously, Gomez had assumed she liked them. Normally Fry wouldn't have minded – it was free food, after all – but his teeth were starting to ache from all the sugar, and his dreams had turned crazy, Technicolor-bright. He was starting to yearn for Bachelor Chow, and Leela had once told him that was just Kibbles 'n' Snouts in different packaging.

In Fry's experience, being stupidly chivalrous and simultaneously tongue-tied only meant one thing. The thing he'd run to another planet to escape. _Love. _

At least Gomez wasn't alone. That was the one good thing about watching his new friends fall pathetically in love with each other. Xandri was just as obsessed, and just as bad at hiding it. Now that Fry was stuck sleeping on the floor, he got to watch Xandri lie on the couch at night and spend hours at a time staring intently at Gomez's bedroom door, like someone had dared her to knock on it and she was working up the nerve. She kept changing her hair and her perfume too, and sometimes she'd swing by the bar and buy Fry drinks, so she could tell him he was getting good at cocktails and ask him fake-casual questions about Gomez. And then ask him what the answers meant, like he'd answered in Morse code instead of English.

It was driving Fry nuts.

"You should ask her out," he said one morning, as he heaped Lucky Charms into a bowl.

Gomez blinked. "Wh – what?"

Fry picked up a spoon and wiped the dried ice-cream off with his sleeve.

"You. Should. Ask. Her. Out." He gestured at the door to the bathroom, where Xandri was singing in the shower. "You know, on a date. You obviously like her."

His room-mate turned the dark purple color of a week-old bruise.

"That's . . . haha. No, I don't. That's crazy. Why would you think I . . ." He laughed like he was having an asthma attack. "She's not even Neptunian. Why would I like her?"

"She likes you."

Gomez stopped breathing. "No she doesn't."

Fry rolled his eyes.

"Are you kidding me? She never shuts up about you. She _has_ to like you. Hey, is this yours?"

He held up a bottle of bourbon. It was annoyingly light, but there was a promising sloshing sound when he shook the bottle.

Gomez shook his head. "No," he said impatiently. He hesitated. "You really think she likes me?"

Fry shrugged. "I dunno. You should just ask her out. I mean, what's the worst that can happen? She says yes or she says no, right? Unless she tells you she has to meet a ghost," he added thoughtfully. "Or her pet is sick. Or it's laundry day. Or she's washing her hair. That can happen."

He up-ended the contents of the bottle over his cereal and started to eat.

"I'm done washing my hair," said a bright voice behind him. "Are you guys talking about me?"

It was Xandri, fresh out of the shower and smiling in a way that made Gomez clam up again. He didn't even unclam when Fry kicked him under the table.

Xandri sat down, frowning at Fry's breakfast.

"Why did you just kick the table leg?" she asked curiously.

_Oh, right. That's why that he didn't notice. _

"My aim was off," Fry said truthfully. He glared at Gomez, trying to send silent _ask-her-out-before-I-go-crazy_ ray beams across the table, but they bounced off Gomez unnoticed.

He switched his attention to Xandri.

"You look nice. Did you change your . . ." He frowned, trying to figure it out through his slightly-drunk morning haze. At last he gave up. "Uh. Face?"

Xandri smiled. "I tattooed my lips." She pointed to the azure blue floral pattern printed on her lips.

"Oh, yeah." Fry floundered. "It's pretty," he managed.

"Thanks." Xandri glanced across the table at Gomez. "Thanks for noticing."

Fry suppressed a groan. These two were hopeless. There had to be something he could do. Hmm . . . this was a delicate situation. What would the characters do on _Three's Company? _His eye fell on the bottle of bourbon again and he had an idea.

"We were just talking about you," he said. That snapped Gomez out of his trance, at least.

Xandri blinked. "You were?"

Fry grinned. "Sure. We were talking about seizing the moment. Crappy diem, and all that." Gomez was shaking his head furiously, but Fry ignored him. "Yeah," he went on, warming to the plan. "We were gonna hit the casino tonight. Wanna come?"

Xandri smiled, confused. "You mean you're going to play? But you never play."

Predictably, she was looking at Gomez. Fry didn't play much, because it reminded him of Bender, but sometimes when he was especially drunk he liked to work the slot machines. Gomez didn't play at all. Fry had privately decided he was too square. Time to drag him out of his comfort zone.

"He's playing," he said firmly. "And you're playing, right?"

"Sure. It sounds like fun."

Fry smiled craftily. "Oh, it will be. We can get drunk, and gamble, and . . . see what happens."

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><p>It took Gomez a long time to wake up, and even longer to stand up. There was a lot of groaning and dry heaving involved.<p>

"Ugh," he groaned. "What _happened_ last night?"

"Oh, good, you're awake." Fry grinned.

He was eating cereal out of the only clean mug in the apartment, and enjoying the feeling of being comparatively sober. "Comparatively" meaning compared to his room-mates. Gomez had been passed out on the floor since 6AM, and Xandri was vomiting loudly in the bathroom. Fry, by contrast, could breathe in without puking, remembered most of last night, and only had the heavy, throbbing headache he got most mornings and had learned weeks ago to dull with drink.

"What happened?" Gomez said thickly. He pulled the neon pink bridal veil off his head and gaped at it in confusion. "Why am I wearing this?"

Fry shrugged. "It's funny?"

He crunched a mouthful of Lucky Charms.

"A lot happened," he said. "It was a great night. I got this tattoo in memory of my dog."

He rolled up his sleeve to reveal the raw, pink-edged words _Seymour Asses_ printed on his forearm.

"And then you lost three hundred bucks to the Borax Kid," he continued. "And then we saw the robot Don-Bot, and he stepped on my foot. And then we crashed a corporate dinner for the free bar . . . and then Xandri rode a mechanical buggalo and won back your three hundred dollars . . . and then you guys got married." His grin widened at the sight of Gomez's expression, which was frozen in horror. "Yeah . . . it was a good night, for sure. You want breakfast?"

Gomez choked and spluttered his way back to coherency.

"When you say married," he began nervously. "You mean -"

"_I now pronounce you man and wife," _Fry said cheerfully. "That kind of married."

He pointed at the TV, where the wedding footage was playing unheeded. A very drunk Xandri (wearing the bow-tie from Gomez's tuxedo) and an equally inebriated Gomez (wearing her bright pink veil) were clinging to each other, laughing nonsensically in front of the bored-looking Elvis-bot that served as the Vegas minister. They were wearing blue suede shoes and kept laughing at Fry, who was less drunk than them, but still drunk enough that he couldn't hold the camera straight and kept forgetting confetti was something you threw over the couple _after _the service. And then . . . there it was ; that moment right before the "_I-do"_s when they blinked at each other and went oddly quiet. It was a stupid wedding and everybody was drunk, but for a moment it was real. They loved each other.

Watching it again made Fry feel hollow. He'd been having fun until then. And now all he could think of was Leela.

Leela, standing in the shadow of the ship, her eye bright with something that might have been fear and might have been recklessness. "You're shaking," she'd whispered, and Fry had been, because he loved her and didn't understand why she wanted to do this, why she wanted to have sex – _now, _and with him. She hadn't explained, but her face had gone soft and she'd kissed him in a way that was soft too, and Fry had loved her so much he thought his heart might burst.

Leela, breathless and undone beside him, telling him she didn't know what she felt, but holding onto his hand so tight it hurt.

Leela, resting her head on his chest, happy for the smallest space of time.

_No, no, no, _Fry thought uselessly. _Shut up. Stop thinking about it. _He swallowed past the lump in his throat and dragged himself back to the present.

Gomez was tearing at his hair.

"What do I do? What do I do?"

Fry shrugged. What did you do when you married someone? Divorce immediately and try to figure out how it happened, if his experience was anything to go by. But this probably wasn't the same. No time-skips, for one thing.

"Well . . . what do you want to do?" he asked. "I mean, you like her, she likes you . . . what's the worst that can happen?"

Gomez stared at him. "You think we should stay married?"

"Why not?"

Gomez colored. "It might not work. I mean, I never even told her I liked her before last night. And we've never . . ." He writhed in embarrassment, unable to finish the sentence. "You know." He lowered his voice. "What if we can't? She's human. I'm Neptunian. What if we don't . . . you know, _fit_. Together."

"Work it out," Fry suggested. In his experience, everything and anything could have sex in the 31st century. Robots, humans, aliens . . . it all seemed to work somehow.

_Mutants, _his brain suggested helpfully.

"Look," he snapped. "You love her and she loves you back. Unless one of you did something really dumb and screwed it up forever, there's no reason you can't be together. She's right there!" He pointed at the bathroom door. "Just go _get _her. I can't take this anymore."

Gomez stood up. He squared his shoulders.

"You're right. You're _right_."

He crossed to the bathroom and threw the door open. Xandri was swilling her mouth out with water.

"Gomie -" she began, but she didn't get much further before he kissed her. It seemed to last an age.

"I taste like puke," she whispered when they broke apart.

"I don't think I care," Gomez told her.

"Oh, good," she mumbled, and she kissed him back.

Fry watched them kiss in the bright morning sunlight. The hollow feeling swelled inside him and after a while he stood up and walked out of the apartment.

Maybe he should leave again, he thought dejectedly. Maybe he should go somewhere new, like the planet of the loveless mole people, where nothing would ever remind him of Leela.

Or maybe he should go back to Earth and find Leela. Maybe he should tell her they were making a big mistake and he couldn't live without her. That was what he really wanted to do. But he couldn't do that.

Could he?

Fry forced himself to slow down, to sit quiet on the sidewalk while he mulled it over.

No, he decided. He couldn't do that. Or rather, he _could, _but he shouldn't. He could show up on Leela's doorstep – drunk, most likely - and tell her he loved her. He could kiss her, and they'd probably end up having sex again. (It just seemed to happen.) But it wouldn't change anything. It would only make them both miserable, like it always did.

He could challenge Lars to some kind of death-duel for Leela's heart, but that probably wouldn't work either. Leela would miss the guy.

"It's not fair," he muttered. "My life sucks no matter what I do! The universe hates me."

He could hear the whine of sirens in the distance. That was unusual – in Mars Vegas justice was mainly dispensed by bouncers with fists the size of his head, or by bartenders with a shotgun to hand, or (more rarely) by casino owners with a set of thumbscrews and a soundproofed private vault. It was rare for the cops or the DOOP to have anything to do with it. But there was no mistaking those sirens.

Fry stood up as a Slurm hovervan shot around the corner.

"Hey! Slow down!" he yelled – and the fender slammed into his stomach.


	36. Chapter 36

**A / N : Thanks cartoonlover27, LadyBender, Guest, Guest again, and Humanmetronome for the feedback! **

**Humanmetronome : It's possible for Fry and Lars to be alive at the same time. But Lars was supposed to die two years ago. Nibbler was right - he's doomed, he just doesn't know it yet. I can't give too much away about Fry, but I _can_ tell you the universe isn't trying to kill him off. Getting hit by a hovercar is just his usual bad luck. (That and him not being entirely sober.)  
><strong>

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><p>101.<p>

Leela peeled a second thermo-strip from her forehead and looked at the reading.

101.

She shook it, but the temperature stayed a stubborn 101.

She was running a fever. Low-grade, but still . . . it was worrying. When had it started? Was it normal? For a pregnant human? A pregnant mutant? She didn't know, and there was no-one she could ask.

The clock ticked in the empty kitchen, sounding much louder than it ever had before. The cyclops debated it, then pulled on her boots and jacket.

It was raining outside. The rain washed the dirt off the sidewalk and turned the steam from the air vents into thick gray fog. Leela walked quickly, keeping her head down until she reached the alley she normally used to access the sewers. She pried up the manhole cover with ease but found herself progressing more carefully than normal on the ladder. The rungs were slippery and the darkness yawned below her. For the first time she felt nervous. When the rusty rungs flaked beneath her boots, her heart jumped to her throat. Sewage residue squelched underfoot as she stepped off the ladder, and she wondered - for the first time - if it was healthy. Maybe coming down here hadn't been the smartest idea.

Leela was still wondering when her mother opened the door. The greenish glow of the toxic lake spilled into the doorway, softening Munda's worried face and smoothing away the years. Even the moldy, dilapidated mutant hovel looked homely in that light.

"Mom," Leela said hoarsely.

"Leela!"

Her mother pulled her into an immediate embrace. Leela sank into it gladly, letting herself be vulnerable for an instant. She usually tried to avoid that around her parents, not wanting them to think she couldn't cope. But for now it felt nice to be a child, and to be comforted by someone she didn't have to feel guilty around.

"You look tired," her mother fussed. "Are you tired? Are you getting enough sleep? Are you running a temperature?" She frowned. "Are you sick, sweetie? You look sick."

Leela sighed.

"No, Mom. But I have some news. Good news, I think. But . . . unexpected." She took a deep breath. "I know it may not be what you always imagined for me, and it's not what I imagined either, but I want you to know I'm happy with my decision, and I hope you'll support it."

Morris stuck his head around the door.

"Decision? Is this one of those 'sexual identity' decisions? Because if it is, you needn't look so worried. We're all God's creatures, that's what I say." He paused. "Although it would be a surprise. I thought you and Fry were knocking boots? Some version of Fry, anyway. I lose track."

Morris patted his daughter reassuringly on the hand, but Munda must have been frowning behind Leela's head, because his face suddenly clouded.

"Uh-oh. Did that sound judgmental, honey? I didn't mean it to sound judgmental."

Leela sighed.

"It didn't, Dad. I understand."

"Oh, good. You screw as many people as you like."

Leela coughed.

"To answer your question : no, I'm not coming out, and yes, Fry and I were . . . well, we were . . . how do I put this? I . . ."

_I loved him, _she thought.

"I'm pregnant," she said instead.

There was a sudden, deafening silence. Her parents stared at her. They didn't look disappointed, as far she could tell – it was more like they were shocked, or they didn't understand. Still, the longer the silence went on, the more uncomfortable Leela felt.

A tap dripped in the kitchen. In the distance, out by the West Side Pipeway, a horn blared to signal end of shift.

"Don't get too excited," Leela said awkwardly.

Her parents finally stopped staring and exchanged a look.

"I always thought you were going to adopt," her mother said carefully.

Leela reddened.

"I was. I still want to adopt someday. It'll be harder on my own, but it's something that's important to me, and I -"

"Wait a second - _on your own?_" Morris exploded. "Oh, no! If he's not standing by you, I'll wring his skinny surface neck. You see if I don't!"

"No!" Leela interrupted. "He doesn't even know yet, Dad. And it's not up to him." She took a deep breath. "I'm doing this on my own. If Fry wants to help, that would be nice - but I don't expect anything from him, or from Lars, and I'd appreciate it if you could respect that."

Munda's face crumpled. She extended a tentacle and touched Leela's cheek.

"We support you, Leela. Whatever you decide to do."

"Support?" Morris shook his head, his mouth working angrily. "Bah! No. I'm sorry, honey, but I don't support this. No-one should have to go through this alone. No-one! Do you know how worried your mother was the entire time she was pregnant with you? Sick with worry, and I was even more scared!"

"Morris, that's enough," Munda said sternly.

"And you hear things. See things. Crando was never the same when his wife died. And Malli and Toad . . . I wouldn't wish that choice on my worst enemy. Dead behind the eyes, both of them, like a light went out-"

"Enough, I said!"

Munda was furious. Even her normally soft tentacles had gone rigid, coiled tightly around Leela's arms. She was glaring at Morris.

"Don't you scare her like that! She's perfect, isn't she? Look at her! Flawless! And Fry, he's human. No mutant DNA in there, no matter how far back you go." She smoothed back Leela's hair. "She's our baby," she said fiercely. "And she's going to be just fine, Morris. There! Now I'm upset. You'll make me cry. Get out of here, and don't come back until you're ashamed of yourself!"

She let Leela go and pushed her husband bodily out of the room.

"I'm sorry, Leela. Don't listen to your father. He doesn't know what he's talking about. You know men – they fuss so much."

She laughed nervously and resumed her compulsive stroking of Leela's hair. She was worried, Leela realized.

"Mom. . . what are you not telling me?"

"Nothing, sweetie. Nothing at all."

"Mom!"

Munda sighed. "Oh, alright . . . it's probably best if you sit down."

Leela sat, nervousness churning up her insides.

"What is it? Tell me."

Munda sat down beside her on the couch, her tentacles writhing in her lap.

"I forgot," she said softly. "We sent you to live on the surface, and now you think like . . . well, like surface people."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Munda sighed again.

"Surface people think passing on their DNA is a good thing." She shook her head at this alien concept. "Down here it's not so simple."

There was a long silence.

"Why not?" Leela asked at last. It felt like her voice was coming from a long way off.

Munda looked up from her lap and met her daughter's gaze at last.

"Because," she said slowly. "We're mutants, Leela. And not all mutations are good. Some of them, they're . . ." She swallowed, struggling for the right words. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "We don't talk about this. It's not . . ."

Leela had gone cold.

"You're telling me the baby might be too mutated to survive." She thought of her father, talking about horrible choices. "You're telling me it might hurt me."

She felt sick with fear, but her voice was strangely calm. Matter-of-fact, really. Maybe her panic reserves had run dry, or maybe she'd lost the ability to be surprised at anything after the last couple of weeks. Whatever the reason, Leela found she was strangely not hysterical about such horrible news.

"Is that what you're trying to tell me?" she asked.

Munda nodded.

"Yes," she whispered.

Leela braced herself.

"Mom," she said evenly. "I'm going to be fine. You said it yourself – I'm the least mutated mutant ever born, and Fry is human. Besides, I feel fine."

"You do?"

"Oh, sure. A little tired, a little sick, but that's normal."

Leela forced herself to smile. The action felt mechanical and stiff, but she thought she pulled it off okay. She squeezed her mother's shoulder.

"But just to be safe," she continued, "I think I should see a doctor. A mutant doctor."

"I'll come with you," Munda said immediately.

Leela winced.

"No, no. Mom, there's no need for that. Just tell me where to go."


	37. Chapter 37

**A / N : Thanks saffronraymiecorinna and cartoonlover27 for the feedback. Always appreciated. And yeah, Fry and Leela will definitely reunite down the road, but not for a while yet. Fry has something to do first, which has been hinted at a couple of times over the course of the story and should become more obvious soon. (The hints, if you missed them, were Nibbler's feeling something is really wrong in the universe – it is – and Leela's prank-call pizza delivery in chapter 31, which is worth taking a second look at. It's more important than it seems.)**

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><p>The mutant medi-center was small and shabby, like everything else in the settlement. Leela was shown into a waiting room by a young mutant girl. Her skin was green and flaking, as if it was drying out. It crackled when she pulled out Leela's chair and she scratched furiously at her arm, shedding bloody flakes on the floor.<p>

"Sorry," she said quickly. "I'm not supposed to scratch, but it's so _itchy." _She smiled nervously at Leela. "You're Mrs Turanga's daughter, aren't you? From the surface?"

The mutant girl had large, wide-set eyes with whites so yellow they looked jaundiced, and irises so yellow they looked gold. She didn't seem to blink as much as she should, and the rims of her eyes were crusted with gunk. They were painful to look at, but it seemed rude to look away. For the first time, Leela had a sense of how strangers must feel when they looked at her own eye.

"Leela," she managed. "I'm Leela."

The girl beamed. "I'm Skreem." She ducked her head nervously. "You're just as pretty as everyone says."

Leela blinked. "What?"

Skreem rubbed at her other arm, fighting to urge to scratch. Her breath came quick and fast, like she was scared.

"You're so pretty," she babbled. "Like a surface person. Your skin, it's so pink . . ."

She put out a hand – a crusted, oozing hand. Leela pulled away before she had time to think about it. She hated herself an instant later, when Skreem cringed back.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you . . . I just don't like being touched," Leela said truthfully.

Skreem shook her head.

"It's my fault, I shouldn't have touched you," she babbled. "I'm really sorry. I'll go, I'm sorry . . ."

"No, you don't have to-"

The door swung shut behind her before Leela could finish the sentence.

"Go," she said quietly.

She sighed. When she shifted in the chair it wobbled on one leg. Leela scowled. It was broken, like everything else down here. The trash the surface threw away.

"Turanga Leela?"

The voice behind her was brusque and businesslike, but at least it wasn't afraid.

"Yes," Leela said quickly. "That's me."

She turned around, and swallowed a scream. The mutant midwife was short and squat, with a broad, homely face, and straw-textured hair thrown up in a bun. And she was covered in teeth. They protruded from her stomach and sides ; sharp, jagged canines that made Leela wince just looking at them. When she moved into the light Leela saw lumps and bumps straining beneath the skin, where new teeth were waiting to break through. The woman's hands and forearms were clear of teeth, but pitted and pockmarked where she'd pulled them out.

"Safer for deliveries," she said shortly, following Leela's gaze. "So, you're Turanga Leela. The least mutated mutant ever born. You came along before I started practice, but I've heard of you, of course."

"Of course?" Leela echoed.

"Mmm. You were a case study. Down here genetics has a more practical application than on the surface. I'm not just a midwife – I'm also a genetics counselor. MD. Not that any institution on the surface would recognize the qualification." The midwife sat down at her desk. "So, you're pregnant."

"Yes."

Leela couldn't stop staring at the woman's teeth. Had she been born with them, she wondered? She couldn't have been. How would you give birth to a baby covered in teeth? It would chew you up from the inside out. The cyclops paled, and put a hand to her stomach.

The midwife seemed to know what she was thinking.

"Don't worry," she said wryly. "I didn't cut my teeth until I was three months old. 'Course, after that they never stopped, but on the whole I count my blessings – and I'm sure my mother does too. I'm Dr Brynda Coeb, by the way. You can call me Brynda."

She stuck out a hand and shook Leela's. She seemed to have delivered her name as an afterthought, and she was already moving on, her eyes roaming over Leela's form as she sized her up, taking mental notes. It was disconcerting, but Leela decided she approved of her efficiency. The midwife looked like she had more important things on her mind than making small talk.

"How far along are you?" she demanded.

"Eight weeks. No, nine."

"I see. Well, I'm going to need samples. Blood, urine, the works. And a physical exam, of course."

The physical exam proved uncomfortable. Providing samples wasn't much better.

Leela watched the midwife snap on gloves and draw her blood.

"How do you have clean needles?" she asked. "And gloves? No offense, but seems like those things would be hard to come by down here."

Brynda snorted. "Our masters on the surface are kind enough to donate what their clinics don't use. It keeps us quiet, and stops us dying and clogging up their precious sewer system, which they really don't want. It must be hard to deny mutants exist when we're washing up dead in their drains. Hence the hospital. We were supposed to just treat the workers if a pipe blew, but they started bringing their families to us, and we couldn't turn our backs. We're not as inhuman as they are on the surface."

She huffed as she labelled Leela's blood and put it into an ancient, humming cooler.

Leela stared at her, feeling sick. She'd known for years that those in power in the city knew mutants were real, and that they covered it up. They used the mutant population as cheap labor for the sewage system. As money had no worth down here, it made sense that the mutants were trading that labor for medical supplies instead. But people were dying and in danger in the sewers, and the best the city could do was donate its cast-offs?

"That's all they give you?" she asked. "Needles and gloves?"

Brynda shrugged. "We have an old ultrasound. No neo-natal equipment, of course. No-one fights to save a mutant baby if it's born premature."

"That's barbaric."

"Yes. But don't worry. The city ensures we always have the necessary equipment to terminate a dangerous pregnancy, so at least they do some good. Granted, they're probably thinking it's one less mutant festering under their feet, but if it saves the life of a woman who comes to me for help, I don't care why they do it – just that they _do_."

Leela swallowed. Her mouth had gone dry.

"How often does that happen?" she asked. "How often do you have to . . .?"

She couldn't bring herself to say it. She hadn't wanted this baby, hadn't expected it at all . . . but now she was faced with the prospect of losing it, and all she felt was panic.

She thought of Fry, shutting the door in her face. Of herself, dreaming she'd lost him and waking up sick with fear because in the dream, the light had drained from her world without him. She thought of Lars, the day she realized he wasn't Lars and never had been. The day she understood that he was Fry, even if he didn't think so anymore . . . and that she still loved him, for exactly that reason. She thought of the day they signed the divorce papers and tore themselves in two again. The day she found out Fry was gone.

The baby was all she had left of him. It was the only part of him she would ever let herself have. She couldn't lose it.

Brynda's expression softened a little.

"We'll talk about that if we need to," she said. "We won't know what we're dealing with for sure until we get a look at your scan. That'll be twenty weeks. But we should be able to get a rough idea what we're up against from your genetic screening."

"How does that work?"

"We take a sample of your DNA and scan for any problems. Just because you have a mutation, doesn't mean you're guaranteed to pass it down – which can be good news, obviously. But by the same reckoning, you don't know what you might be carrying."

"Carrying?" Leela echoed.

"Mmm. Genetically. You could be a carrier." The midwife sighed at her blank look. "I'll break it down to a grade-school level for you. Some genes are recessive," - she laid her right hand on the table - "and some are dominant." She brought her left hand down to cover it. "Say you have blue eyes and your partner has green eyes. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, the baby doesn't end up with one blue eye and one green. Either your blue beats his green, or his green tops your blue. But if your grandaddy had brown eyes, baby might surprise you all by taking after him. Your blue eyes" - she raised her left hand, so that the right was revealed again beneath it - "might not be all you had to give. Not the whole picture. You see what I'm getting at here?"

"Yes," Leela said. "I think so. So . . . what you're saying is that even though I'm healthy, there could be something horrible lurking in my gene pool?"

"Or the father's." Brynda looked at her sharply over her notes. "Who isn't with you, I notice. He needs to get his ass over here."

"That could be a problem," Leela admitted. "I don't know where the hell he is."

"What, he ran off?"

Leela grimaced. "It looks that way."

Brynda clicked her tongue impatiently. The look on her face suggested she thought Leela was an idiot.

"Well, find him!" she said. "It's not like he can go far."

"_Well_," Leela snapped, "he has the whole universe. That seems far enough to me. I've been looking for him for weeks."

Brynda froze. The color drained from her cheeks.

"Please tell me," she said slowly, "that a mutant fathered that baby."

She gestured at Leela's stomach, her face suddenly tight and unreadable.

Leela frowned.

"Fry? No, he's human. Does that make a difference?"

Brynda dropped her chart like it was red-hot. She swore under her breath.

"And he knows you're here? He knows you're doing this?"

"Uh . . ." Leela shifted uncomfortably. "No. Not yet. I told you, I can't find him. Is that a problem?"

"Yes," Brynda said furiously. "It's a big problem!"

"Why?"

Brynda shook her head. "Because," she said shortly, "I can treat you, but I can't lay a hand on something that's half human. You understand? I can't do anything to that baby he doesn't want to do."

"That's crazy," Leela objected. "It's my body. It's my _baby. _Surely I -"

"Surely nothing. You're a mutant. You get found out, you get deported right back where you came from. And I hate to break it you, but where you come from, you have no rights. You understand? _He_ has rights. You don't. If lover boy wants his DNA out of there, it goes. If he wants to see how the whole thing turns out and take the baby – tell people it's an alien, stick it in an orphanarium, whatever the hell he wants – he can do it. There is no court on the surface or under it that will find in your favor. Do you understand?" She gave a bitter laugh. "You're a mutant. To them, you're nothing."

Leela felt dizzy, like the breath had been knocked out of her.

"That's not true," she said furiously. "Not -"

_Not to Fry, _she thought. She had never been nothing to Fry.

But the midwife was busy shaking her head in disgust.

"You'd better hope he sticks around long enough to even have that conversation, once he finds out he's been bedding a mutant. And you'd better not get too attached to the fetus, because if I know anything about the way they think on the surface, he's going to want to destroy the evidence as fast he can. Fraternizing with a mutant is a crime, and I doubt he's willing to do time."

She laughed again, and it was that bitter, cynical little laugh that tipped Leela over the edge. A white-hot rage was coursing through her, making her shake. Her relationship with Fry had been wrong for a hundred reasons, but not one of them had been that she was a mutant and he was human.

"He already knows," she said coldly. "He's always known. He doesn't _care_."

"Is that what he tells you?" Brynda sighed. "Look, sweetheart, you wouldn't be the first to be taken advantage of by-"

"I'm not an idiot," Leela interrupted. "I think I'd know if he was lying." She calmed down a little. "Really," she admitted. "He's a terrible liar. _He _can be an idiot."

She smiled in spite of herself – in spite of her anger, and her fear, and the horrible, crushing loneliness she felt whenever she thought about Fry. He still had the power to make her smile. It felt like a miracle, and it lent her unexpected strength.

"He's an idiot," she said firmly. "But he's a good man, and he loves me." It had taken her a long time to believe it, but it was the one thing Leela was sure of now. It was inescapable. "He'll want the baby, and he'll want to help. Just tell me what you need him to do."

The midwife considered her. The idea that a normal, non-mutated surface-dweller could honestly be in love with a mutant seemed impossible to her, but something in Leela's face or in her voice must have struck a chord, because she stopped arguing the point and settled for looking discomfited instead.

"Find him," she said at last. "I won't touch you until you do."


	38. Chapter 38

**A /n : Futurama is now officially over. For now? Forever? Who the hell knows anymore? Either way it's pretty depressing. Have a new chapter to ease the pain, and remember - you still have Zoidberg. You ALL still have Zoidberg!  
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**Thanks to ATHPluver, Kaci, Anna, cartoonlover27, LadyBender, saffronraymiecorinna, and Forgotsurname for the reviews! It's really great to see people stick with the story through all the twists and turns, and more than one person has told me how much they connect with the story on an emotional level - which, let me tell you, is some of the best praise a writer can get. The point of this story was to really dive into the complex emotions that would have resulted for everyone if Lars had lived and kept his secret. Relationships are messy and complicated, and emotions are confusing - and poor Fry, Leela, and Lars get to experience all of that, with a side serving of accidental baby and mysterious cosmic DOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMM. I do sometimes feel incredibly evil.**

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><p>The rain fell hard and fast, drumming off the top of Lars's head. It was warm and it tasted like tin. He guessed that was a side-effect of the city smog, but didn't pay it any more thought as he hurried up the path to what had – until recently – been his own front door.<p>

It wasn't anymore. It was Leela's now, but apparently she hadn't told the security system yet. When Lars put his hand on the door it scanned his fingerprints immediately and sprang open. He pulled it shut again and knocked loudly.

"Leela? Leela, it's me. Lars. Uh. You know what I mean."

"Lars?"

Leela moved into the hallway and pulled the door open. She looked the way she always looked these days – tired and defensive – but when her gaze fell on him, her face melted unexpectedly. She moved aside to let him in.

"I don't mean to bug you," Lars said awkwardly, as he stepped across the threshold. "But-"

"You don't," Leela interrupted. "You don't bug me."

She touched his cheek ; lightly, like she was checking to make sure he was real. Seeing his puzzled expression, she dropped her hand and looked away.

"Come in," she said.

"No-one's seen you in days. Are you okay?"

Lars couldn't help asking. Something seemed weird about Leela. She wasn't meeting his gaze, and there was a tiny tremor in her voice, like she was trying to squash some overriding emotion. In its own way, it was worse than when she'd found out he was Fry and thrown a plate at his head. At least then he'd known what was wrong.

"I'm fine," Leela said shortly, shrugging off his concern. "I've been busy."

"You don't seem fine. I don't know, something seems . . ."

"I'm fine," Leela repeated, in the same impatient, distracted way.

She let him follow her into the lounge, the sight of which pulled Lars up short.

It looked like it would if he'd moved back in and given his inherent laziness free rein. There was an exercise bike in front of the TV, and a stack of pregnancy magazines on the floor, with three crumpled-up Slurm cans on top of them. The coffee table was covered in books and magazines, each left open, face-down or with pages folded over to mark Leela's place. Lars almost put his foot in a tub of ice-cream when he sat down. He knocked it over when he tried to edge it out of the way, and a trickle of melted Strawberry Supreme soaked into his sock. One of his own shirts was lying on the couch, unbuttoned and tossed there carelessly, as if Leela had been wearing it and thrown it off when she got too hot. There was something poking out of the top pocket too - a pressed yellow flower. It was dried-out and old, but when Lars crushed it between his fingers a faint sweetness rubbed off.

He knew that flower, he realized. He'd given it to Leela, years ago. She'd been on a bad date with some aide of the mayor's, and she'd been so pleased when he - Fry - gave her the flower. Pleased enough to kiss him, even if he hadn't really understood why.

Lars pushed the flower back into his pocket while Leela wasn't looking. It was strange to think she'd kept it. After a moment's thought he pushed his shirt out of sight too, under the cushions of the couch. This evidence of Leela's loneliness felt private somehow, like a diary left open in public, and Lars was sure it was something she would normally hide. The fact that she hadn't was as unusual as the mess. Leela's surroundings were usually sparse to the point of spartan, so Lars couldn't help but think the mess must reflect a dramatic shift in her frame of mind.

"Is it the baby?" he asked worriedly. "Is that it? Is something wrong?"

Leela threw herself into the armchair opposite him. She crossed her legs in the lotus position and twitched a blanket around her shoulders, pulling nervously at an unraveling thread.

"I don't know," she said at last. "There might be." She met his gaze. "It's a mutant, Lars. _I'm_ a mutant."

"So?"

"_So . . . _there's a chance it could be . . . mutated."

Lars frowned. "You mean it might have one eye, or a tail, or tentacles?" He wiggled his fingers, tentacle-like, and tickled Leela with them, trying to make her laugh. "Does it matter if it does? Fry won't care. He'll probably think it's neat."

Leela pushed him away. "I don't mean that kind of mutation," she said.

"What other kind is . . . oh."

There was a long, drawn-out silence. Lars was thinking. Unfortunately he was also nervous, which meant that he was thinking out loud, and babbling to boot.

"In my day they used to talk about cancer. They used to say it was caused by cells that mutated. I mean, that was what they-"

"It was." Leela's voice was icy.

"Oh." Lars scratched his cheek. Something else struck him, rearing up unpleasantly out of the mists of memory. "Uh. Do you remember the first time we went to the sewers, and they dipped that rat in the toxic lake? And it-"

"_Yes_." Leela shuddered.

"But – I mean – you don't know that it'll be that kind of mutation. I mean, you're a mutant, and you're perfect." A ray of hope shone through, and Lars seized on it. "The mutants might know. They could do a test, or . . . something . . ."

Leela's voice became, impossibly, a few degrees colder.

"They could," she said. "But they won't. They won't do a thing unless Fry tells them to."

Lars blinked. This sounded crazy.

"Why does Fry have to tell them what to do?" he asked, bewildered. "He'll just get you to make all the decisions anyway. That's what I always did. And he doesn't know the first thing about babies."

Leela kicked off the blanket in a fit of rage and sat up straighter, hugging her knees.

"Because he's human," she snapped. "He gets a say because he's human. He's human, you're human, I'm not human! Do I have to spell it out for you? I have no rights!"

"Oh." Lars had forgotten the whole illegal-mutant-living-on-the-surface thing. "You should have told them I was the father," he mused.

"I wish I had. After all, genetically-"

"I know. I am." Lars nodded. "Do you think that counts?"

"No." Leela grimaced. "I floated that idea - "what if Fry had a clone?" I even took it to the mutant court. But they're scared of what the surface will do if they decide in my favor. So they're insisting the father is Fry. He was physically there so it's his permission they want. And even though it's my baby, no-one cares what I think. I don't have rights. No mutant does."

She grabbed a book off the coffee table.

"Listen to this," she demanded. She cleared her throat and began to read.

"_In 2894 a cholera epidemic struck the mutant population. Hundreds of men, women, and children died as a result of drinking contaminated water. The epidemic was not the first of its kind, but it was surely the worst, and for a time it seemed nothing could stop it. It would ravage our settlement, leaving nothing living below ground but the flies. However, 2894 was the year brilliant mutant minds devised a solution : the sewer, or sub-sewer, as it is known today. This feat of mutant engineering prevented us contaminating our own water supply and successfully eliminated the deadly cholera epidemics of centuries past. Not only that, but the industry of our forefathers so impressed the surface administration that soon afterwards they founded the modern sewage system, ushering in a new age of prosperity for the mutant population."_

She flung the book away from her. Her eye was blazing with fury.

"That's a textbook from the mutant high school," she spat. "Every mutant child learns this garbage. They're taught that the people on the surface are wonderful and responsible. They're taught to be _grateful _for every crumb tossed their way._" _She clenched her fists. "We've had a cholera vaccine for a thousand years, and they don't even know! The surface could have saved every mutant who died in those epidemics, and they didn't lift a finger. They let them die! Less disgusting mutants below ground, right? Who cares! And when the mutants fixed things themselves, the surface found a way to make their environment a living hell all over again. They turned it into one big sewer, and they don't even pay the mutants for working in it! You know what they do? They give them medical supplies. Out-of-date leftover crap, so they can stitch themselves up again when they get crushed by collapsing pipeways or get hepatitis from dirty needles, or – or . . ."

She broke off, spluttering for breath.

"It's barbaric. And we can't do a thing about it because we don't have rights. We're not even people to them."

"Them?"

"Politicians," Leela snapped. "Lawmakers, and – bigots! Every single person on the surface who thinks mutants are sub-human, just because we're genetically . . . not human!" She was shaking now, white with rage, and her voice kept rising. "It doesn't matter! We're still people!"

"I know," Lars said nervously. "I know you are."

He had never seen Leela so angry. He put out a tentative hand. Leela stared at it for a long moment and then wove her fingers through his. The gesture belied her uncertainty.

Lars sighed.

"You're going to do something crazy, aren't you?"

He could tell. Leela had that look – apprehensive but defiant, and really, really _stubborn. _It was a look that meant she was about to paint a bunch of placards and chain herself to something, or sucker-punch Zapp Brannigan, or go after Robot Santa with an ax. When Leela got that look, everyone else got out of the way, fast.

"You don't have to get involved," she said quietly. "They're not your people. I'd understand."

"They're _your_ people though," Lars pointed out. "You were right. You're a mutant, and the baby's a mutant." He swallowed hard. "You and the baby are all I have, Leela. You're my family. You're . . . _my _people, I guess."

It was awkward and stumbling, but he needed to say it and Leela needed to hear it.

"That's just the way it is," he went on. "If it was the other way round – if it was my baby, if I was gone and Fry was here – he'd do the same. Blood is thicker than water, right? That's what Yancy used to say. Ha. He used to say I was thicker than both." He smiled. "You and Bender were my family from the day I came to the future, Leela. More than the Professor, even. You were there for me when I had no-one. I can't forget that. You were . . . I don't know. You were like a family I chose." He shrugged. "I can't let you do this on your own. It's not right."

Leela's grip tightened on his hand. They stared at each other, and something changed in the air. Neither of them seemed able to breathe. Lars could see himself reflected in Leela's eye – tired, weary, _old-_looking - and for the first time in a long time his reflection didn't seem to fit. He saw himself leaning in, felt like he was falling forwards, and he was going to kiss her, he knew he was going to kiss her even though they were divorced and she was pregnant and it was a bad idea on so many levels . . .

The holophone rang, and they sprang apart.

"Sorry," Lars said automatically, at the same time Leela said "We shouldn't-" and stopped herself self-consciously.

She covered the moment by smiling awkwardly and scrambling for the holophone handset. When she hit the button a grainy, translucent version of Amy's face was projected into the air. She looked nervous but excited, and when she saw them she broke into a smile.

"We found Fry!" she cried.

Leela jolted out of her seat like she'd been zapped with a thousand volts. Lars stared up at her through the fuzzy distortion of the Amy-image. He stared at her expression and felt hollow and far away.

"Great!" he heard someone say, sounding assertive and relieved. It wasn't until Leela smiled shyly at him that he realized the person had, inexplicably, been him.


	39. Chapter 39

**A / n : This chapter took an age to write. I'm working a ton of overtime right now - which is a bitch - and I don't have much leisure time. It wangs chung, you guys. **

**Usual review shout-out to LadyBender, SkyeBlueDreamer, saffronraymiecorinna, Kaci, cartoonlover27, and Elphaba818. **

**Saffron : Yeah, the new run has Flanderised a few of the characters. I enjoy it, don't get me wrong, but I prefer the earlier season versions, especially of Fry and Leela. I think there's a fine line between Fry being childish (eg kind of whiny and immature) and behaving like an actual child. Some recent episodes tip too far into the latter. I mostly work off BBS and season four for characterization. **

**Cartoonlover27 : My template for Lars is basically Fry, but a Fry who's a little more emotionally battered and has learned to _think really hard_ before he speaks. When he forgets to be so careful he tends to say more stupid things, but he's also more honest. What he says to Leela about family could come out of Fry's mouth without changing a thing. Almost kissing her is the same. It might be a mistake, but it's honest, and it's pretty much exactly what Fry did with her – something he knows is wrong but feels is right. Lars thinks of Fry as someone he used to be, but Fry is probably 80% of him, even now. I like him. I'll be sad when it's time for him to die.  
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><p>Three days prior to events on Earth, Fry was having an out-of-body experience of his own. He was learning - to his surprise - that it was possible to be hit by a speeding Slurm van so fast you left the pain on the kerb behind you.<p>

The fender slammed right into him, but it didn't hurt when it happened. It knocked all the air out of him, but it didn't hurt. It didn't even hurt when he was thrown through the windshield. That just stung.

He thudded face-down into the shotgun seat and shut his eyes instinctively as shattered glass rained down around him. The hovervan lurched violently to the left, and someone swore.

The voice was gruff and male, but beyond that all Fry could see was a pair of heavy black boots, like army boots, or the kind Leela wore. The wailing siren got louder behind them, and voices crackled out over a bullhorn.

"RELEASE THE HOSTAGE AND PULL OVER. I REPEAT, RELEASE THE HOSTAGE!"

"Hostage?" the driver growled. He sounded insulted. A heavy, dirt-encrusted boot swung over to the passenger side and nudged Fry in the cheek. "Hey. Kid. You alive? Feel much like a hostage?"

"Nnnngh."

It was all Fry could manage. He felt like a toy figure that had been stomped on and rammed into a remote-controlled car the wrong way up. All the blood was rushing to his head and . . . oh, yeah. _Now _came the pain. It started off as a dull ache deep in his abdomen, but then he noticed his head was woozy and there was blood trickling into his tattered clothes, where a thousand tiny shards of glass had tried to tear him to shreds. He struggled into a semi-vertical position, hugging the car seat for support, and cringed as far back out of the range of flying glass as he could.

He sneaked a look at the driver of the hovervan.

His unwilling abductor was in his fifties. He was bulky, with buzz cut hair fading to gray, and frown lines cut deep into his forehead. The stubble on his cheeks was flecked a salt-and-pepper mix of black and gray, and looked like it hadn't seen a shave in a while. He carried himself with a ramrod straight, controlled posture that reminded Fry of his dad. He was also wearing faded DOOP fatigues, but that couldn't be right. DOOP officers didn't hijack Slurm vans and drive them one-handed while firing their weapon out the window. And they probably didn't run into civilians. At least, not intentionally. And they probably didn't try and evade the law, because in most places, they _were _the law.

Something about this situation was not right.

"Did you rob a casino?" Fry wheezed. "Am I a hostage?"

His captor didn't answer. Instead he hit the gas, barreled into a blind alley and pulled a sharp U-turn. The rear of the hovervan hit a dumpster and the doors flew open, unleashing a hundred cans of Slurm at an unholy velocity. As the hovervan lost weight it rolled helplessly off-course. Fry felt blood, or vomit, or _something _surge up his throat as they flipped over and over, but he still felt a whole lot luckier than their pursuers. The Slurm cans had ripped through their vehicle like machine-gun fire.

Fry screwed his eyes shut again._ I'm gonna die, _he thought._ I'm gonna die in a crazy shoot-out on Mars. _

_Bender, I hope this was the death you always imagined for me. _

_Leela, I love you. I'm sorry I'm such a screw-up . . . _

This thought hung unhappily in his head until Fry frowned. Shouldn't his impending death have interrupted him by now?

He risked opening one eye. He was upright, and a long way up. A really long way up. It was getting cold, and cloud condensation was beading on his skin like sweat.

"Oh no," he moaned. "I'm dead!"

"You're not dead," someone said gruffly, but Fry didn't notice. He was getting light-headed from lack of oxygen.

The Professor floated up on a cloud beside him.

"You're not dead, you nincompoop!" he said irritably.

Fry stared. "I'm not?"

"No! Now hwake up before I fire you again! Hmph."

"But I'm not as . . . ass . . . sleep . . ." Fry slurred. The words dragged on his tongue.

Next he heard Amy's cheerful voice.

"Professor!" she corrected. "He's not asleep. He's hallucinating!"

_Help me, Amy, _he tried to say, but the words wouldn't come out.

Someone was speaking to him from a distance, but he didn't know the voice. It kept calling him 'kid'.

"What's wrong, kid? Hey. Hey!"

Fry clutched hopelessly at his chest. His ribs had taken a pounding when the hovercar hit him, and in this thin air he couldn't breathe.

Bender appeared, lounging on a cloud shaped like a giant cigar. When Fry reached out for help the robot just laughed and blew smoke in his face. It was cold and clammy, like mist.

"Chump," he said derisively.

Fry moaned. "He-hel . . . ep . . . lep . . ." Why couldn't he say it?

"_Help," _Leela whispered in his head.

" . . . 'elp . . ." he croaked, though whether he was asking the stranger or the hallucinated Leela, he couldn't say.

"_Tell him you can't breathe." _

Fry just stared blankly. Black spots swelled and burst in his field of vision. Leela's voice in his head was fading. He was floating, he noticed. No wonder he'd thought he was dead. It was kind of nice though.

_Wheeee, _he thought . . .

And then Leela was back, her voice fierce in his head.

"_I love you," _she said. _"Don't die, you idiot!" _

She kissed him and his lungs were burning, because he couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe . . .

He could feel her fingers faintly on his wrists. They were pulling his arms up, making him tear at his shirt . . .

He blinked and Leela was gone, leaving him staring, dumbfounded, at his tattered shirt and the mass of bruises underneath. Someone shouted and then his stomach swooped. They were going down, fast. There was a clank and a hissing sound -

Fry struggled as something was pushed over his nose and mouth. He tried to bat it off but Leela – or the memory of Leela - kissed him on the forehead with ghostly lips.

"_Shh," _she whispered, her voice intermingling with the hissing sound as sweet, cold air filled his lungs. He breathed in deep. Each breath was agony, but if he could feel it he must be alive. So he left the mask alone and slumped in his seat.

* * *

><p>He awoke some time later.<p>

"Leela?" he mumbled, but she wasn't real – she'd only ever been a hallucination - so he didn't expect much of an answer.

He was sitting upright in the passenger seat of the Slurm van, and someone had bound his ribs up with cardboard and plastic crate ties. It was tight and uncomfortable, and underneath it his chest still hurt like hell. The oxygen mask helped, some, but the elastic was annoying and he couldn't talk with it covering his mouth. He debated it for a second, then pulled the mask off.

"Easy," a gruff voice said.

His abductor moved into view, backlit by the harsh Martian sun. They were parked in the middle of nowhere, and the sun was going down.

"I'm making a fire," the man said. He kicked the side of the Slurm van. "There should be food for two, if you like beans."

"Not really." Fry gasped and clutched at his ribs. "This hurts," he complained. "Can't I go to a hospital? I won't rat you out, I swear."

The man considered him.

"No," he said at last. "Look, I don't like doing this, but I need your help. I'll send you home after, you have my word." He sighed. "Just hear me out. If I don't make it out of this, or if Nixon's goons catch up with me . . . well, someone else needs to know. Someone needs to tell the folks back home."

Fry frowned. "Tell them what?"

"It's a long story."

"Can you tell it over beans?"

The man laughed. "I'll get 'em."

He reached under his collar and pulled out a chain, from which two metal tags hung. He handed it to Fry.

_Captain E.P.I Glottus, _Fry read. More details, carved into the metal, jumped out at him. _Recruit no. :1726347_. _Birthplace : Santa Fe, Earth Continent of America. Enlisted : 03 / 02 / 2984. _

It was an ID tag, he realized. A DOOP captain's ID tag. It looked like he'd been right about that after all.

"My name is Captain Eric Glottus," the man said quietly. "I gave almost thirty years of my life to the DOOP, and two weeks ago I deserted." His mouth twisted as it said it, like the word left a bad taste on his tongue. He laughed bitterly. "I deserted, I hacked into the DOOP database, and if I have my way, I'll become the biggest whistle-blower those bastards have ever seen."

Fry blinked. "Why?"

The captain stirred his can of beans, staring into its gloopy depths.

"Half my life," he said at last. "That's what I gave them. I won't say I was a great captain – hell, I'm not even sure I was a good one – but I cared about my men. And then they started disappearing."

"What?"

Glottus nodded. "It started off small. I'd send a cadet on a fuel run and he wouldn't come back. We'd stop off at an outpost to pick up new recruits, and the place would be a ghost town. I reported it, but all the response I got was some bureaucrat who'd write me back and say 'the appropriate action' was being taken."

"What does that mean?"

"Damned if I know. Superior-speak for _shut up and stop asking questions, _I reckon."

Fry shrugged. He'd never worked at a job fancy enough that the boss used euphemisms. If someone wanted him to shut up and stop asking questions at Planet Express, they just came out and told him so.

"Then what happened?" he asked.

The captain chewed slowly.

"We were cruising round Teddy Bear Junction," he said. "Place is a scumhole, but we were on the trail of interstellar smugglers and I had word there was a hideout in use at the Junction."

"Cool," Fry said thoughtlessly. Fortunately the captain seemed too glum to notice.

"When we got there," he continued, "we were ambushed. Attacked on two fronts. There was a firefight, and the ship sustained some damage."

His voice was level ; methodical, even, like he was filing a report.

"I had command of fifteen men," he said. "I sent eight after the enemy and kept the remainder for repairs. It meant overseeing two operations at once, but it seemed a no-brainer. Fix the ship, sweep up the space rabble and head for home." He paused. "I never saw those eight men again. The last I heard from them was some garbled message about an irregularity approaching. A craft, or a creature . . . they weren't sure. So they went out to recon." He shuddered. "Whatever they found out there, it scared them out of their wits. They started babbling like lunatics. The prisoners too. I couldn't get any sense out of them, just a crapload of nonsense – when they remembered they had radios at all. They were . . . laughing. Like they were high on something. Laughing and laughing, and then . . . nothing."

The sun had sunk beneath the horizon, and it was getting cold. Fry shivered.

"What was so funny?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"Where did they go?"

"Nowhere. Anywhere. How the hell do I know? I just told you I never saw them again."

"Oh, right. Sorry."

Fry winced. The pain was mounting in his chest again, and the cold didn't help.

"What about your other men?" he asked.

The captain grimaced.

"I was trying to establish radio contact with my missing crew members. At first I didn't notice, but after a while . . . The silence was wrong. I should have heard from my guys working on the engine. It's not a big job, y'know? Engine repair. The ship's a throwback – a Mark II running on converted hydrogen – and she can be a bitch to patch up after a scrape, but my guys knew the drill. They could do it in their sleep." He stared, unseeing, into the distance. "They were gone. Not on the hull, not in their quarters, not on the bridge. Just gone."

"You never saw them again either?"

"Oh, I saw them." The captain's jaw clenched. "They floated past my window."

"Um." Fry swallowed nervously. "They were spacewalking, right? To repair the engines?"

"They were dead."

"Oh." The delivery boy shuddered. "I knew you were gonna say that. I just _knew _it. Something got them, right? Like a - a monster, or a thing from outer space, or -"

"Nothing got them," Glottus snapped. "They got themselves. Killed themselves, I guess." He scowled. "They went out without spacesuits. Just stepped into space like they were steppin' out the front door. No oxygen, no visors, nothing."

"That's stupid," Fry noted. "And if I think it's stupid, it must be really stupid, because I'm the stupidest person I know."

_Stupid. _The word stuck in his head somehow ; sparking some lazy, long-dormant synapse into action.

"It doesn't make any sense," the captain mused, more to himself than to Fry. "These were guys with years of experience in the field. They knew better."

"Maybe they forgot what they knew," Fry suggested helpfully - then stopped.

Why had he said that? Forgetting . . . that stuck in his head too.

People forgetting . . .

Why did that matter? Why was it important? He knuckled his forehead, trying to make the connection.

Glottus didn't seem to have noticed his companion's sudden lapse into silence – probably because he was now in the middle of furious tirade against the DOOP, who had falsified reports of the incident, doubted his version of events, and then tried to buy his silence with a promotion. To hear him tell it, they were as crooked as one of Bender's practice girders.

"You don't believe me," he accused Fry.

"Huh? No, no! I believe you," Fry protested. "My face just looks like this because I'm in horrible pain. I think I broke my ribs."

"You did," Glottus confirmed. "I gave you my last medi-shot, but I'm clear out of morphine. Sorry. Bone repair's a bitch."

Fry nodded. He appreciated the medicine, but if he'd known he was getting it, and known it would hurt this much, he would have told the captain to keep it. He couldn't decide what was worse – the dull, cramping ache of soft tissue knitting back together, or the feeling his ribs had been coated in rapidly-shifting thumb tacks. Both were pretty bad.

"Keep talking," he pleaded. "It helps. Tell me what happened next. There's more, right?"

"Right." Captain Glottus grimaced. This was obviously the part of the story he was least proud of. "I took the promotion," he said. "Headed up to HQ and got a little lost. I mean, I'm just a humble field officer, and those tiny little office cubes all look the same . . ."

Fry sniggered. This excuse sounded hokey even to him.

"The DOOP bought that?"

"Not once they caught me, no. Put it this way : getting out was a lot harder than getting in. But I found what I was looking for."

The captain pulled another small metal shape out from a chain around his neck. This one wasn't an ID tag though. It was a goldish nugget that folded out to resemble a palm pilot. When Glottus touched the button in the center, a holographic projection sprang into the air.

"See for yourself," he said cryptically.

Fry frowned. He wasn't much of a reader at the best of times – too easily distracted – and the pain in his ribs wasn't helping. But this felt important, so he squinted at the reams of data shimmering in front of him.

What was it? Names? A list of names?

"I don't get it," he said.

"A lot of it is DOOP code. It might not make sense to a civilian, I don't know. But I'm guessing you know what MIA means?"

"Missing."

"Yeah. And expired?"

"Uh . . . rotten?" Fry hazarded. "Like bad eggs? Or . . . no, wait. People-expired means dead. Right? Dead?" He paused, staring at the number next to the word 'expired'. "Dead. But -"

His eyes jumped back to the MIA column. The figure there was even bigger.

His lips moved silently as he tried to add up the two.

"But that's hundreds of people," he managed at last.

"Five hundred and fifty seven," Glottus said grimly. He stared at the projection. The light cast ghoulish green shadows on his dark skin. "I must know every name by now. I keep reading it. I keep thinking of those families back home, waiting for someone who's never coming back. And if the DOOP has their way, they won't even know why. They'll just sit and wait and grow old not knowing. Who the hell would sign off on that?"

"I don't get it," Fry said. "How can they cover up that many missing people? It doesn't make any sense. I mean, someone would notice."

Glottus shook his head. "They didn't all disappear at once," he said. "It's been slow. A batch of unexplained deaths here, a platoon gone AWOL in neutral territory . . ." He tapped the first name on the list, zooming in on the fine detail. "It started two years ago. A supply train ran into trouble. From the information they relayed back to base, it sounds like an anomaly opened up in front of them. Some kind of rip in space. That was what they called it – a tear. And something came through it."

"Like Yivo?"

"No, some kind of craft. But when they got close to it the crew stopped making sense. Just like my damned men. All they could do was gibber on about brains and jellyfish, I don't know. There's an audio file attached to the report, but I can't make hide or hair of it."

"Brains?" Fry blurted out. Cold shot through him. No, not cold. Some other feeling, one that felt like cold water trickling down the back of his neck, but had another name. _Foreboding. _"Play the tape," he said urgently.

"It's not a tape, it's a -"

"Just play it!"

The captain looked like he wanted to argue. He was wearing the same look Fry remembered his father wearing, right before he called his sons insubordinate and ordered them to drop and give him twenty. But there was curiosity mixed in with it. Enough to make him shelve his doubts and play the audio file.

It was eerily familiar.

Sure, the voices were different, and the crackle of DOOP gunfire was unfamiliar, but other than that . . . these guys sounded the way the Planet Express crew had, that time the Brainspawn came to Earth. They had the same way of talking, all slow and heavy, like it was a big effort even remembering what their tongues were for. They thought everything was funny or sad or scary, like little kids. And they were so dumb they made Fry feel like Einstein.

He listened to them bicker, a sick feeling swelling in his stomach.

"_Hur hur . . . braiiiiiiiinssss . . ."_

"_Them not brains – them whales! Space whales. Here, Whalie-Whalie . . ."_

"_Brains! Brains!"_

"_No! Fish! Ha ha, they zap you. Like a jellyfish. Jellyfi-iiiiiiish!" _

"_BRAINS!" _

There was another burst of gunfire and the men on the tape screamed and fell silent.

"They shot each other," Fry said.

"No," Glottus argued. "It looks that way, but it just doesn't make sense. There must be something else at play here – even the damn DOOP thought so. Some kind of mind control or -"

"You don't get it," Fry interrupted. "I wasn't asking a question. I think they did shoot each other."

He took a deep breath.

"And I think I know why."


	40. Chapter 40

**A / n : Sorry the updates aren't coming as fast as before, guys. I'm working two jobs and it doesn't leave me much time to write. **

**Thanks Lady Bender, cartoonlover27 and Elphaba818 for the reviews. Your support is why I'm still making time for this. (40 chapters, whoo!) **

**Fic thoughts : Yeah, right now the Brainspawn are Fry's main plot, Leela's mutant heritage is hers, and Lars's plot is him trying to figure out who he really is and working through the ramifications of being a time-paradox duplicate. Basically each of them has something in their history that made them who they are and now has the potential to shape who they become.**

* * *

><p>Mars Vegas was waking up as the ship flew overhead. Leela had previously been under the impression the place never slept, but apparently it did. It just did so in the gray hours before dawn, before the garbage trucks came round.<p>

She watched orange streaks suffuse the sky and tried to tamp down the terror rising in her stomach. She'd spent weeks trying to track Fry down, and as much as Leela might hate admitting it – as empty as she'd felt without him – part of her had been glad of his absence, because it meant she didn't have to have this conversation with him. What was she supposed to say, anyway? How did you tell someone they were going to be a father?

_Funny story, Fry . . . remember that time we had angry sex in Amy's closet? Well, you'll never guess what made a baby!_

She winced. It was horrible even before she found a way to factor in the Russian Roulette of mutant genetics, and the awkward fact of her feelings for him.

The cyclops swallowed past the lump in her throat.

_I can't do this. _

It didn't help that things were getting more and more confusing. Last night she'd almost kissed Lars. She wasn't even sure why. He'd been talking about her and Bender and how he first came to the future, and she'd simply lost control again.

It was probably Fry. The longer he stayed away the more Leela missed him, and the more she missed him, the more she found herself grasping at anything that might dull the feeling. And then Lars would say something that resonated so strongly it made her dizzy, or do something so familiar it prompted an unexpected rush of affection for him, and Leela would find herself confused, the line between him and Fry blurring before her eye. Looking at him was like looking at two overlapping images – the man she'd loved as Lars and the one she knew as Fry, layered over each other in a state of constant flux. They were fused in such a way she couldn't pick them apart.

Thinking about this made Leela's head hurt, so she dropped the subject and turned to Amy instead. The Martian girl had agreed to fly her to Mars Vegas first thing in the morning, and taken it surprisingly well when Leela refused to wait til then.

She was currently yawning at the wheel, wearing Hello Kitty pajamas and a sleepy expression. Leela glanced guiltily at her.

"Uh . . . Amy?"

"Yeah?"

Leela cleared her throat. "Thank you. For this. I know we've had our differences in the past, but I really do appreciate your help."

Amy blinked. "Aw, Leela! That's, like, the third nicest thing you've ever said to me! I'm honored."

She guided them inexpertly into a parking space, scraping the ship's hull against a billboard.

Leela winced. She was still annoyed by the crew's refusal to let her fly, but she did owe Amy, so it was probably best to overlook the insult. (And bite her tongue about the Martian girl's sloppy steering.)

They landed with a bump, and Leela felt her annoyance drain away as butterflies started flapping like crazy in her stomach. They were partly panic at what she had to tell Fry, and partly panic of a different kind.

Amy pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket and passed it to her.

"He's in Apartment 434B," she said helpfully. "There should be a button in the elevator."

Leela nodded, staring down at the address without really seeing it. Her mind's eye was choosing to show her a flashback reel instead.

It showed her Fry, drowsy and disoriented on the couch beside her. He had worked an arm around her waist somehow and was half-asleep ; a warm, comforting weight in her lap.

Fry a little later, telling her he loved her when she couldn't stand to hear it. "I love you, I love you, I love you!" he said recklessly, like he didn't know or care how much that scared her, and the only response that felt right was to drown it out and lose herself in him.

Fry again, holding open the door to his and Bender's apartment. "I think you should go," he said, and the emptiness in his voice hurt more than she ever imagined it would.

A jolt of realization struck her._ The baby had been there the whole time._

It was a connection she had somehow avoided making up til now, but it must have been. The night she'd spent watching Fry sleep off his concussion, steeling herself to do the right thing and leave him in the morning . . . the baby had been there between them all that time.

Fry had been inches from their unborn child and he hadn't known. She hadn't known.

It was an unsettling thought.

"Are you okay?" Amy asked nervously. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"I . . ."

Leela opened her mouth to say no, to swat Amy away as she usually did, but something stopped her. Instead she nodded.

It was a quick, curt movement, but it left her feeling exposed. Despite the battering she'd endured over the last month, emotional vulnerability wasn't something she could get used to.

Leela stared out at the blob monster hosing down the sidewalk, and tried to force down another surge of regret.

It came up anyway.

It hadn't been so bad with Fry. She had never _enjoyed_ feeling vulnerable, per se, but with him she had somehow hated it less. He could do with a smile or a look what Amy couldn't achieve with all the awkward overtures in the world.

The cyclops fumbled with the zipper on her jacket as they crossed the plaza. Mars was usually warmer than Earth, but most of the planet had been terraformed as basic desert and temperatures tended to plummet at night. The pre-dawn air was cold enough to send goosebumps tingling across her skin.

"You're sure he's here?"

"Yep." Amy stepped neatly over a puddle of vomit, wrinkling her nose. "He tends bar at the casino and this is the address they send his paychecks to. Apartment 434B, Penn-Teller Plaza. We got it from the Robot Devil, and there's no way that guy would lie."

Leela stumbled on her way into the elevator. The sliding doors grazed her elbow as they snapped shut. She yelped in annoyance.

"You made a deal with the Robot Devil?" she remonstrated, rubbing her arm. "Amy! You can't trust that scheming Beezlebot as far as you can throw him – and that's not far, believe me. I've tried it. What were you _thinking_?"

Amy rolled her eyes.

"Would you schmill out? It's fine. We didn't even make a deal with him. We were going to, but then Bender told him why we wanted to find Fry, and I told him about you and Lars, and I guess he thought that was better than payment. Go figure."

Leela frowned. This didn't tally with her knowledge of the Robot Devil. Not at all.

"What exactly did you say?" she asked suspiciously.

Amy shrugged. "Um . . . I don't remember it _exactly, _but Bender might have said some stuff about crippling financial obligations and how this is going to cramp Fry's dating style for the next bazillion years . . . and, um . . . I might have said a little _teensy_ something about how you were married to Lars when it happened." She coughed, her cheeks glowing to match her sweatsuit. "And maybe something about how you still spend all this time with him even though you guys are divorced, and, um . . . I might have mentioned how he spent the night at your place after all this went down."

A pregnant silence swelled in response to this. In a corner of the dingy elevator, something Leela was glad she couldn't see dripped loudly onto the floor.

"Nothing happened between me and Lars," she said icily. "And nothing will. He was boarding up my cat flap, okay?"

She watched the numbers on the elevator display flash past.

"I just like knowing where he is. There's nothing weird about it."

"If you say so."

The elevator jerked to a stop before Amy could say anything more.

* * *

><p>The apartments had to be small. They crowded in on each other like cells in a honeycomb, clustered around a flickering halogen bulb that was the hallway's only source of light. Something about the exposed wiring trailing from the doorbell told Leela that was out of commission, so she bunched her fist and knocked instead.<p>

A young, mixed-race woman opened the door. The bleached blonde cornrows in her hair were coming unraveled, fanning out around her head like a supernova, but she didn't seem bothered by it. Her bleary eyes suggested she'd just rolled out of bed, and her choice of outfit - white cotton underwear and a carelessly thrown-on man's shirt – hinted she'd much rather get back there.

At least the shirt wasn't Fry's. Not unless he'd grown an extra set of arms since Leela last saw him. No, it had obviously been tailored for someone of a different species, most likely a Neptunian. Not that this had stopped the girl wearing it. She had simply tied the two extra sleeves into a knot with the shirt tails, turning it into a midriff-flaunting outfit Amy would have been proud of. On the soft curve of her hip a half-healed tattoo was just visible. It looked like a mechanical buggalo.

But that wasn't what had caught Leela's attention. It was the glint of gold on the girl's finger she couldn't tear her eye away from.

"Eye," the girl said sleepily, the first word that came to mind tripping automatically off her tongue. She blinked, and woke up a little. "I mean, hi! Hi."

Leela felt her face burn.

"We're looking for Fry," she said coldly.

The girl yawned.

"Wrong address," she said. "There's a place round the corner does pretty good pancakes though."

She went to shut the door, only to find Leela's boot blocking her way.

"I meant Philip J Fry," she snapped. "The _person_. He lives here."

"I don't know any Frys," the girl protested. "I think you've got the wrong -"

Leela went to argue further, but didn't get the chance. Amy interrupted.

"Hi!" She stuck out a hand and smiled sweetly. "I'm Amy Wong. You know, of the Wong family Wongs? You've probably heard of me because we own, like, half the planet. I think we own this building. You've heard of me, right?"

The girl nodded warily.

"Super! So nice to meet you!" Amy's smile widened. "The thing is, Fry is our friend and we _really _need to talk to him. Are you sure he doesn't live here? He has red hair. Plays a lot of computer games. And he's really sweet and everything, but he's probably the dumbest person you ever met. Ring any bells?"

A light dawned. "You mean Yancy?"

"Yes!" Leela erupted.

Why Fry would use a fake name was a mystery, but it had to be him. There could only be one person in the universe who matched his description and had his brother's name. _Finally. _But -

"Oh."

The girl bit her lip, which wasn't the response Leela had been hoping for.

"You're friends of his?" she asked.

Amy nodded. "I'm his friend," she said eagerly. "And him and Leela are _friends, _if you know what I mean."

She winked.

The girl didn't smile.

"Oh," she said again. She stepped aside. "You'd better come in."

* * *

><p>Xandri's apartment was as small inside as it appeared from the outside. The front door opened straight onto a tiny kitchen  living area which was mostly kitchen, with a couch and a TV squashed into one corner. A single door led through to the only bedroom, which Leela sincerely hoped contained some sort of bathroom, and not just Xandri's snoring husband.

She hadn't eaten today, but it probably wouldn't make any difference. This baby had brought with it an incredible ability to be morning-sick even on an empty stomach. Or in the afternoon. Under pretty much any circumstances, really. Privately, Leela was blaming this on Fry. She'd had an iron stomach until she made the mistake of letting his genes anywhere near her. Fry, on the other hand . . . not so much.

Xandri sat them down on the couch while she went to wake her husband.

"I'm sorry I don't have anything to offer you," she said. "We both work at the casino and it's easier to eat on the job. Free canteen, y'know?"

"It's fine. We're not hungry."

"Oh. Well, hey . . . our wedding tape is in the player, if you want to have a look." She picked up the remote and hit the play button. "That's your Fry, right?"

Leela stared at the footage and felt her nausea recede, falling away like she no longer had room for it. Her heartbeat seemed to have rocketed into overdrive.

"Yes," she said distantly. "That's him." _My Fry. _

He was wearing a white dress shirt with a crumpled collar and a sloppily-fastened bow tie : the uniform of a bartender in the classier kind of casino bar. The left sleeve of his shirt was rolled up and someone was tattooing letters on his arm while he yelped and wriggled like a baby, whining about the pain. If she squinted, Leela could make out the words : _Seymour Asses, _the name of Fry's old dog. He looked lonely, and unmistakeably drunk. Watching him, Leela found all she wanted to do was dive into the screen and pull him out. And then maybe force-feed him a pint of coffee and let him sleep if off somewhere safe, like her lap.

Someone touched her shoulder and she jerked back from the screen, embarrassed.

"Hi! Uh, sorry I startled you. I didn't mean to. I'm Gomez."

The speaker was a young Neptunian. He was pretty scrawny and wore round glasses which magnified his eyes into huge, worried orbs. His four arms were operating independently of each other at this moment in time : one was flicking off the wedding video, another held out a hand for her to shake, and a third had wrapped itself around his wife's waist. He was using the fourth to point at himself.

"Gomez," he repeated. "That's me." Apparently he'd sensed Leela wasn't listening. "You must be Leela."

His gaze flickered down to the fingers of her left hand, taking in the absence of a ring.

"You are Leela, right? The married lady?"

"I was."

"Oh. Sorry." Gomez pushed his glasses further up his nose. "It's just that Yancy – sorry, Fry - he made it sound like his thing with you was over. If he thought he still had a shot, I mean . . ." He caught Leela's expression. "I guess not. Sorry. It's just . . . I was hoping maybe he went back to you."

He looked miserably at his shoes.

"He's really gone then."

This last sentence was so quiet it had obviously been spoken more to himself than to her, but Leela jumped on it anyway.

"_Gone?_ What do you mean, gone? He can't be gone!"

Gomez shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"He left three days ago."

Xandri squeezed his hand and took up the story for him.

"It was the morning after our wedding," she explained. "So were kind of distracted. But, yeah . . . he went out sometime after breakfast and just never came back. We looked everywhere for him. Bars, clubs, casinos . . . like I said, everywhere. But he didn't show up for work and he didn't come back here either. No-one's seen him since."

Leela stared at her in horror.

"I'm sorry," the blonde added ineffectually. "It's not like we didn't try. We really liked him - he basically set us up together. But I don't think -"

"Wait, wait." Gomez held up a hand, frowning at Leela. "If it's over between you guys, why are you looking for him? Because if he owes you money -"

Leela swallowed. "No. He doesn't owe me a thing."

"Then what?"

"I can answer that!" Amy chimed in. "He left Leela a present, if you know what I mean. The kind you can't give back." She winked.

"Herpes?" Xandri guessed. "No, wait, that's the gift that keeps on giving. You must mean -" Her gaze landed on Leela, whose hand had drifted unconsciously to her stomach. "Oh, _shit."_

"Xan!" Gomez turned eggplant purple with embarrassment. "Sorry, Mrs Leela. Leela. Um. Sorry. She didn't mean it like that."

"Are you kidding?" Xandri rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I did! C'mon, Gomie. Ya - _Fry_ was sweet but I knew him three weeks and I don't think I saw him sober once. I was two years below the legal limit and he used to serve me alcohol! He was _sleeping with a married woman_ and then he ran away to Vegas! That doesn't scream 'responsible' to me."

Amy snickered. "He's so not. I could tell you stories."

"I don't care!" Leela snapped. "I don't care what he did, I want him _back_."

That shut them up, leaving her to think about what she'd just said.

Was that true? Did she really not give a rat's ass about how irresponsible Fry could be? It had always been a major sticking point before.

She struggled to make sense of this.

"I grew up in an orphanarium," she managed at last. "I never knew my parents. No matter what happens, I don't want that for my child. I'd rather have an irresponsible father in my baby's life than none at all."

Only, _none at all_ was exactly what she'd wound up with, wasn't it? Fry wasn't here, and this had been her last hope. The sense of hopelessness welled up again, threatening to drown her.

Xandri grimaced.

"Sorry," she said. "You're right. I only meant that I'd freak out too, in your shoes."

"That is not helping," Gomez muttered.

He smiled and patted Leela's hand awkwardly. At the look on her face he snatched his arm back.

"Um. So . . . um. You're from Earth. Xandri is from Earth."

"I go to Mars U," his wife clarified. "Or I did. That's not a happening thing right now."

"She says Earth is nice this time of year. Is it nice where you are?"

Leela stared at them.

"I'm in New New York," she said slowly. "It's Fall."

"Oh."

Gomez fidgeted with his glasses again. He was trying to make small talk, Leela realized at last. It was clear he had no idea what to say to her.

"Hey, you never mentioned what species you are."

"What?"

"Species," the Neptunian floundered. "It's gotta be nice, being compatible with humans. I mean, you can have your own kids together. Not every interspecies couple can do that. If me and Xan wanted kids we'd probably have to adopt. Right, Xan?"

His wife shrugged. "Probably. We don't, but he's right – it could be majorly awkward if we did. You're lucky. It must be rare to sync up like that."

Leela stared at them. She still had that feeling, like she was drowning on dry land. The blood was rushing in her ears. There was a baby in her belly growing at a rate of knots, cells dividing and sub-dividing in unknown configurations, and her only hope of getting a look at it rested with Fry.

Fry, who was reckless and irresponsible and stubborn as hell. Fry, who had left his mark on her in more ways than she would ever have thought possible ; in long-faded hickeys on her skin and words that stuck in her skull somehow and wouldn't leave. Stupid, ill-timed, honest words.

She looked up, anger coursing through her veins like some potent new drug.

"I'm not a different species," she said tightly. "I'm a sewer mutant."


	41. Chapter 41

**A / N : Thank you LadyBender, Kaci, Elphaba818, dia and Frogspell16860 for the reviews. (Holy crap, I'll hit a hundred soon. Futurama – it's the fandom that can't be killed!)**

* * *

><p>"I'm a sewer mutant."<p>

If words had weight, those would have hit the floor with a clang. Usually, saying them out loud left Leela feeling like she'd just announced she was the only person in the room with leprosy. People would stare and blink a lot, dumbfounded, and then start to say things like : "Is it contagious?" and "So does your flesh really fall off?" and, sooner or later, "Oh my, look at the time!"

They weren't words calculated to make friends. Even people who had known her for years, like Cubert and LaBarbara, had been visibly squicked-out the first time she told them. LaBarbara seemed to get around it the same way Amy had – by boxing the information somewhere in the back of her head and insisting she only saw "Leela", who was basically human and not like those other gross mutants in the sewer. Oh no. Not at all. Cubert, on the other hand, had simply kept up the snobbish, superior attitude he'd always had to her, which was based on his belief that the entire Planet Express crew were incompetent dungbrains spending his inheritance on donuts. He had once described her as "a genetic anomaly" though. Fry had thrown a shoe at him and asked if the mole he'd been scraped from was hairy. It was a memory Leela privately cherished.

Fry was one of the few people who really did seem to just see her as Leela, even after he found out she was from a place where Shit Creek wasn't just an expression. To him, mutants were no more remarkable than aliens. There were just a cool urban legend which turned out to be kinda boring once you got past the tentacles and the extra eyes. They were so unremarkable, in fact, that he routinely forgot they were supposed to be a secret, which led to him making loud, unbelievably stupid comments like "I went to the sewer this morning for lemon cake" and "Of _course _sewer mutants are real, Leela's-mmpfff!" Luckily most of the people he was talking to thought he was an idiot.

And he really wasn't afraid of mutants. Certainly not in the mean-minded, ignorant way most people were. If he was afraid of Leela, it was because she knew seven types of martial art, not because he thought she was some kind of storybook monster.

Sometimes, of course, a really hideous sewer mutant would loom out of the shadows and make him scream like a girl. But that had never bothered her. After all, the list of things that made Fry scream like a girl was long and varied, and included stuff like "a really surprising pop-tart". It wasn't a good means to measure anything.

The cyclops sniffed. She _missed _that girly scream.

The other people in the room were talking, she realized dimly. Reacting to her big announcement.

"Have you lost your mind?" Amy cried. "You can't just _tell_ people you're a _mutant_, Leela! They'll report you! And then they'll take you back to New New York and _deport_ you! What's wrong with you?"

Xandri had dragged her bewildered husband to the other side of the room, meanwhile, and was trying to explain what a sewer mutant was, and why it was a big deal. There were a lot of flailing arm movements involved in her explanation. Though it was hard to hear the whole of their conversation from this side of the room, from time to time Xandri's emotions got the better of her and a word or two broke through at higher volume.

"They _eat _people, Gomez!"

Leela dug her nails into the cushions of the couch. It always came back to that, didn't it? _They eat people._ Everyone remembered that little legend about mutants, everyone believed it, and no-one ever bothered to ask why it might be true.

"It was hundreds of years ago," she interrupted. "The mayor barricaded us in the sewers and we were starving. We would have eaten anything, including the bastards who had orders to shoot us on sight. You think people flush food, do you? You think you can grow anything worth eating with no sunlight and no clean water? We were fighting each other over rats!" The flicker of disgust this provoked only made Leela angrier – especially as she was 99.9% sure Munda still cooked with rats. "I'd like to see you find food in the sewer," she snapped. "Most humans can't hack it more than five feet from a Fishy Joe's."

She had settled instinctively into her 'officious activist' tone of voice, the one that made Bender turn off his hearing and yell "Shut up about the stupid penguins or I'll kill 'em all myself! Don't think I won't do it!". Fry usually turned red and tried to sink out of view when she used it. Lars had learned to just ride it out and nod when required. It was a good tone, she thought - like nagging dialed all the way up, with a side serving of righteous indignation. And it was devastatingly effective.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Amy squirming. Her friend looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her up. _Good, _Leela thought ruthlessly.

"Besides," she added, "it's rude to talk about people behind their backs. If you want to know about sewer mutants, you should ask one."

The obvious embarrassment felt by Gomez and Xandri was extremely satisfying. Leela didn't let them spoil it by apologizing.

"We're leaving," she said firmly. "C'mon, Amy."

* * *

><p>She was sipping soy latte at the hotel bar when Amy found her again.<p>

"You took your time," she said coolly.

Truth be told, she was a little annoyed Amy hadn't followed her right out of the apartment. Just once in her life she'd like to pull off a dramatic exit. Was it so much to ask?

"Well, guh!" Amy spluttered. "_Someone _had to explain you, Leela! You just went nuts! What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't."

"No kidding!" Amy shook her head, incredulous.

She pulled the bowl of peanuts towards her and began scooping them into her mouth. Leela recognized the compulsive eating as a nervous tic, but decided not to say anything. It wasn't like a few savories would spoil Amy's physique anyway.

"I don't think they'll report you," Amy continued. "They really like Fry and they feel bad about what they said to you. They're not bad people."

"No, they're just ignorant."

"Leela!"

"Oh, sorry." Leela stirred her drink disinterestedly, not feeling all that sorry.

Amy looked over her shoulder, then leaned in and hissed, "Why did you tell them you're a . . . _you know_?"

"I am."

"But you don't tell people! You never tell people! Not that I blame you. I mean, I wouldn't either, but-"

"Maybe I should."

"Uh?" Amy's mouth dropped open. Her hand crept across the bar, grabbed a packet of buggalo jerky and tore it open, before she raised it to her mouth and took a big bite. She chewed slowly, swallowed, and blinked.

"I 'eally 'orried a'out 'oo," she said through her second mouthful. "Iss i'n't 'ike oo."

Leela stared at her.

_Worried, _she thought. Who else would worry if she told the world she was a mutant? Who else would know it wasn't like her?

The thought was so faint she didn't dare move, in case she disturbed it.

Fry would worry. Fry would know something was wrong.

Leela stared at the bowl of peanuts without seeing them. She felt as if the world was slowing falling away from her, like she'd forgotten to breathe.

Would he worry enough to come back?

_He's not even on Earth, _a small voice reminded her. _It doesn't matter what he'd do if he never hears about it. It's not like you can issue a universe-wide PSA from the sewer, is it_?

_Is it? _

Amy had finished off the jerky.

"You're on the surface already, Leela," she said. "You're okay. And you can't change the law. This isn't like Prop Infinity, you know? You can't just throw a parade and change people's minds. They think you're monsters! They'll send people after you with guns and stuff."

_Ding! Ding! Ding!_

A slots machine chimed in victory behind her as the idea clicked into place in Leela's head.

She nodded, keeping her face carefully neutral. It was vital no-one knew what she was planning now, or they'd try and put her off.

"Ye-esss," she said slowly. "You're right, Amy. This is not an issue of public opinion."

_Unless I make it one, _she thought_. And if they won't listen . . . I'm a good shot, and I know the sewers. I'd say that gives me the advantage. _She nearly smiled. Her years as an animal-rights activist had been largely unsuccessful, but they had taught her punches achieve more than placards. A decade spent with Fry and Bender, meanwhile, had been one long lesson in how to marshal chaos. It would be hard, but she could do this. And if she did, she'd kill two birds with one stone – getting Fry's attention _and_ putting an end to the oppression of her people.

She felt a twinge of guilt about lying to Amy, though. Her friend looked so relieved. Right now she was squeezing Leela's hand.

"Exactly! And now you have the baby to think about. All this stress can't be good for you. Hey, I know! I still have my diamond access card, and there's a pretty good spa at the hotel. We could go for facials! Soothing, relaxing facials." She beamed. "Wouldn't that be great?"

_Oh, lord_, Leela thought.

"It's okay," she said out loud. "I think I'll just go home and catch up on some sleep."

"Oh, okay." Amy deflated for a moment, then brightened up again. "That's a good idea," she chirped. "You blitz that eye-bag!"

Leela nodded vaguely.

She would have been offended, but she was trying to remember where she'd left her video camera. She had a feeling she was going to need it.


	42. Chapter 42

**A / n: Thanks L, LadyBender and Forgotsurname for reviewing the last chapter. (Yeah, last chapter was pretty short. And this feels pretty long. How does that work?)  
><strong>

* * *

><p>She found the camera on top of a stack of magazines in the kitchen. Leela checked the memory slot and tucked it into her bag with a banana and a packet of peanuts, in case she got hungry later.<p>

Come to think of it, she was hungry now.

The cyclops crossed to the refrigerator and pulled out a can of Slurm. She was trying to kick the habit, but it was proving surprisingly hard to do so. There was something about the thick sweet soda that calmed her down, at least while she was drinking it. Maybe it was a craving.

When she'd finished, she found a pen and a sheet of paper and began to write a note for Lars.

_Gone to see Mom and Dad_, she wrote.

_P.S There's goulash in the freezer. It needs eating up by Friday. You're welcome to have some. _

She hesitated, then added : _P.P.S You weren't there. _

_P.P.P.S The goulash needs five minutes on HIGH._

She stuck the note to the microwave, where he was sure to see it.

Lars was still on the couch, where she'd left him last night. He was snoring softly, but there was evidence that suggested he'd been up for a while when she was out. For one thing, he'd cleaned up.

Fry's approach to cleaning had always been to open a window and knock off the surface layers of grime, but Lars had obviously realized, some time during his long absence, that there was more to it than that. Not really understanding what this might be, his approach was kind of slapdash. During their marriage, Leela had put this down to him simply being a male, but now she could see in it all the symptoms of Fry's short attention span and irregular logic. In here, for instance, he'd thrown away all the rubbish but had simply stacked all her magazines and books into a pile on the coffee table, ignoring the perfectly good shelf underneath it and the entire bookshelf standing in the corner. He'd dusted. (Leela knew this because she could see the broken ornaments lying by the fireplace like casualties of war. The glue hadn't dried yet.) He had forgotten to vacuum the carpet, but he had, for some strange reason, washed and ironed the curtains. There was a big red weal on his right hand, where the ironing-board had closed on his fingers.

Leela sat on the one clear edge of the coffee table and stared at him for a moment.

It would be fairer if she could let him go.

It would be fairer if she didn't still love him.

It would be fairer if he wasn't Fry.

She leaned across and kissed him gently on the forehead, so lightly her lips hardly touched him. If he felt it he might wake up, and Leela knew instinctively she didn't want that. It could only be awkward.

She watched him sleep a minute longer, wrestling with her own confusion, then slipped out.

* * *

><p>The nearest unobserved manhole cover was a block away. Leela walked quickly, her bag bumping against her hip. Yellowing leaves skittered over the sidewalk, swirling around her shoes.<p>

She glanced left and right, then threw back her head and squinted up at the sky, looking for hovercars. Satisfied no-one was watching, she dropped to the ground and pried up the manhole cover. This in itself was no picnic. Years of doing it without a crowbar had left her short nails chipped and bleeding, and were also the reason she ignored Amy's many hints about manicures. How long would French polish last, on her nails? It was like a bad joke.

She swung down into the gloom, feeling for the rusted rungs of the ladder with her boot-tips. When she was sure they would take her weight she descended a little further, then reached up and pulled the iron cover back over the entrance. Darkness swallowed her in an instant.

The cyclops felt her way down in the dark, one rung at a time, ignoring each ominous creak of the ladder. This entrance was one she didn't use if she could help it – the ladder was a mile long, straight down into empty, sucking blackness. It came out by the crocodile pits. With no light to see by, Leela used the air to guide her. When it became unbearably foul she stopped, pulled the banana out of her bag and dropped it, listening for the splash.

It sounded maybe ten feet below her, followed by the grisly snap of a crocodile's jaws. Leela didn't stop to think. She jumped, ankles together, so that her full weight hit the creature on the nose. It opened its mouth to snap again but Leela had bent her knees instinctively and jumped to the left, where – sure enough – a second croc had closed in to contest the kill. This one reeled too as Leela used its head as a stepping stone to the shore. She sprang, easily clearing the six feet to the edge of the pit. When a third reptile snapped at her ankles, she hit it with a length of rusty pipe.

Sighing, she set off again. Leela hated crocodiles. They were basically just logs with teeth, and their mode of attack never varied. Bite, snap, bite. It was so boring.

She glanced down at her stomach.

"Enjoy the ride," she muttered.

All the magazines said it was perfectly safe for a physically active woman to do everything she'd done before during pregnancy. Okay, so they probably hadn't pictured this, but . . . _perfectly safe_, they'd said. Leela clung to that defensively. If she had to put up with regurgitating her food several times a day during pregnancy, the baby could stand a few somersaults.

She stopped at a marker on the outskirts of the village. It was just a shapeless block of concrete, painted white, but to those in the know it marked the boundary of home. Once you stepped past it you were in the mutant settlement – safe amongst your own. You had shelter, food if you could stomach it, and you could pretend these markers were the corners of the world. Many mutants did, Leela knew. A lot of the older ones had given up on the whole idea of a surface world. Surface air and open skies were like a dream to them. It scared them when the younger ones talked about the shafts of sunlight that sparkled under drains, or about Lars and Fry, the only surface visitors to the sewer. People with pink skin and the regulation number of limbs were a fairytale to the some of the really old mutants.

Leela felt a pang of guilt. The old people had retreated into their own heads because they felt safe there. If her plan worked, she was going to blow that fantasy world up in their faces.

Still, she had to do it. If the baby was born an obvious mutant, nothing she could say would save it from a life in the sewer. If it could miraculously pass for human, it still wouldn't be safe, not under the current status quo. What if she was found out in the future? A mutant with an apparently human baby? Would the city even believe it was hers? She shivered. No, of course not. That would mean admitting humans and mutants weren't really so different. Most likely, they'd say she'd stolen the baby. They'd take the child away, send it to some awful orphanarium like the one she'd grown up in, and she'd never see it again. And then maybe they'd keep an eye on it, and some time in the future, if they started to worry about it polluting the human gene pool, there would be an operation in the night, quick and efficient, and that would be that. There would never be a grandchild she'd never know.

Leela sat down on the marker, steadying her breath.

It wouldn't happen. She wouldn't _let_ it happen.

She reached into her bag and pulled out the video camera, switching it on with shaking fingers. There was light of a sort here: gas lamps burning in little pockets in the wall. Slime glowed faintly on every surface. She would go into the village and film more later, so that people could see what life was really like for the mutant people. But there was a segment she needed to record first.

She raised the camera to her face and stared into the blinking red light.

"My name is Turanga Leela," she said evenly. "I was born in the state of New New York, where I was left in the care of Cookieville Minimum Security Orphanarium and declared a ward of the state. I lived there until I was eighteen. I still live in New New York. I'm a spaceship captain at a package delivery company, I'm recently divorced, and I pay my taxes. I'm not that different to anyone else in this city, except for one thing, I suppose." She took a deep breath. "I'm a mutant."

* * *

><p>It was getting dark by the time Leela hauled herself out of the sewer. The camera in her bag felt like an unexploded bomb. Leela was hyper-aware of its position, of the way it shifted with every step. The more paranoid part of her brain kept expecting to hear sirens and bullhorns, to find herself bathed in blue light and staring down the barrel of a gun.<p>

It didn't happen, but someone _did_ step out of the mouth of an alleyway opposite Planet Express and grab her arm.

Leela grabbed back, found her center of gravity automatically and flipped her assailant over her head. It was only when Xandri yelped that she realized it wasn't NNYPD and she didn't need to fight.

Not yet.

"Don't hurt me! Don't hurt me!" Xandri cried.

Leela glared at her, then pulled the girl up and pushed her into the shadows, so they couldn't be seen.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed. "How did you know where I work?"

"I got it from some guy on LinkedIn! Zoidberg! Dr Zoidberg! Don't hurt me!"

Leela exhaled forcefully. "Fine," she snapped. "What do you want?"

Xandri swallowed. She was looking better than she had in the morning. She'd tightened up her hair and changed into what was probably her waitressing uniform: a black skintight dress, pantyhose, and black patent pumps. The pound of make-up on her face made her look older, but her body language, away from her husband, made her seem younger. Less sure of herself. It was unexpected.

"I wanted to say sorry," she blurted out. "For this morning. I was stupid and I judged you and you were right . . . it was stupid. So I'm sorry."

Leela looked at her skeptically. "You came all the way to Earth to tell me that? Sure you didn't stop in at NNYPD while you were here?"

"No!"

The anger in the girl's voice was pretty convincing. Leela reluctantly let her go.

Xandri simmered down a little.

"I just felt bad, okay? I got to thinking about Yancy – I mean, Fry – and what he would have thought if he'd seen me talk like that. I don't think he'd have liked it."

"What do you care?"

"I told you, my whole life changed when I met him. I wouldn't have Gomez if it wasn't for him. I wouldn't be _happy_ if it wasn't for him."

Leela blinked. "He does have that effect," she said, more to herself than Xandri.

"I owe him, you know?" Xandri went on. She glanced down at her feet. "Besides, I – I know what it's like to not want someone to find you. My last boyfriend . . . we fought a lot." She swallowed. "He always won. He was a lot bigger than me."

"I'm sorry," Leela said. It was an automatic response, but not a warm one. She was too tightly wound to let go of her suspicions.

Xandri shrugged. "It's history," she said. "And it's not your fault. I just wanted to show you something."

She dug into her purse and pulled out a folded photograph. It was her, but only just. The girl in the picture had shiny brown hair in a sensible ponytail, minimal make-up, and no tattoos. She wore blue denim jeans, a demure green shirt, and a smile that dazzled on her lips but died before it reached her eyes.

"That's the old me," Xandri said. "I was at Mars U, remember? So anyway . . . he had a game one day and I was home alone and I guess I just snapped. I hawked a bunch of his stuff and ran away to Vegas. If he ever found me . . ."

"I think I get it."

Xandri nodded. "So now you've got something on me, and maybe you'll trust me. Enough not to tell on you, anyway."

Leela sighed. In a day or so, keeping her secret wouldn't matter in the slightest, but she couldn't say that.

"I understand. Thank you," she said instead.

Xandri was smart enough to realize this was the best she was going to get. She nodded and started to walk away, but stopped at the mouth of the alley.

"If you ever need a couch to crash on," she said, "come see us. Being your safe house might help make up for us being such huge jerks to you. I know Gomez thinks the same. So . . . any time."

"Sure," Leela muttered, and wondered how badly her life could go from here on out, and what possible set of circumstances could lead to her becoming a fugitive in hiding on another _planet_.

She watched the slight figure disappear from view, privately convinced she'd never see her again.

* * *

><p>Bender was exactly where she'd suspected he would be – sitting in Fry's vacated groove on the Planet Express couch, watching <em>All My Circuits<em>.

Leela switched it off and sat down in front of him, forcing the robot to look at her.

"I need your help."

"You need a lot of things," Bender scoffed. "Happy pills. A makeover. Therapy."

"It's about Fry."

There was a slight, barely-audible whirring as Bender's hard drive shifted into higher gear.

"What about him?"

"Look, Bender, I know you and I don't always see eye-to-eye on this-"

"Ha-"

"But we both want the same thing here."

Bender cracked open a beer. "Hey, only one of us wants to bone Fry, and it sure ain't me."

"I _meant _we want him to come home." Leela hesitated. "And I think I might have a way to get his attention."

_Eventually, _she added, in the confines of her own head. Bender could be pretty impatient.

"I'm listenin'."

"Do you still have that spamware installed?"

"I might do."

"How do you feel about adding some charges to your rap sheet?"

Bender perked up. The robot was extremely proud of his arrest record, and never passed up a chance to add to it. "What kinda charges?"

"Uh . . . nuisance activity? Disturbance of the peace? Fraternizing with a mutant? There might be more."

Bender drained his beer, considering. "Well . . . I don't see my debugger 'til the new year," he conceded. "What kind of spam are we talking about?"

Leela pulled the memory chip out of the camera and dropped it into his hand.

"I want you to send out a video. That's all. Just one teensy video."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Bender looked dubious, but took the chip. "You're the boss, meatbag. Who are you spamming? The pigs? The Central whatever?"

"Yes."

"Huh?"

Leela stood up.

"All of them," she said simply. "Everyone in the state of New New York. Every computer, every cellphone, every comms device."

She slipped the communicator off her own wrist and put it down on the table.

"Send it to everyone."


	43. Chapter 43

**A / n: Usual thanks to Kaci, MinecraftPrincess, Lady Bender and Forgotsurname. **

**Happy new year, everyone! Celebrate with this bumper chapter and a six pack of Lo-Brau, on me.**

* * *

><p>Lars was woken by the ping of his wrist device.<p>

"You've got mail," it said in a suave, Hollywood actor-type voice.

The device had been Cahill's originally and she had set the voice operating system as some actor she liked. The 30th century version of George Clooney or somebody. Lars had never worked out how to change it.

It wasn't so bad, except that it sometimes came out with incredibly cheesy "Thoughts of the Day", like this one :

"_Remember_," the velvet voice purred, "_you're only as beautiful as you feel. Be radiant today_."

This managed to be monumentally embarrassing even though he was the only one around to hear it. Lars covered his face, groaning.

The email had no subject line, but it was probably spam. Did he really need to read another message advertising human horn or telling him Bender B. Rodriguez was "1000% Certified Great!"? No . . . but the dimwit curiosity he'd had as Fry was hard to shake, and Lars had clicked "open" before he knew it.

"My name is Turanga Leela. I was born in the state of New New York . . ."

There was no mistaking that voice. There was no mistaking that face, even in poor light. That was Leela.

Lars sat bolt upright and watched in horror. Then he flexed his hand, grimaced at the pain that proved he was awake, and forced himself to watch the video message again.

His brain seemed to have stopped working.

Leela had just told the entire world she was a mutant. But she couldn't have done.

But she had.

_Leela. _

He fumbled for the remote. Once he'd got the TV on he mashed the buttons desperately, searching for local news. Maybe it was some kind of hoax, or a hallucination? TV would see him right. It always had in the past, after all.

Only this time the TV seemed to be playing along with his nightmare.

"- frightened residents have besieged Citihall, where Mayor Poopenmeyer has appealed for calm. We interviewed Mrs Astor, the Mayor's largest campaign contributor, to see what she thought of this evening's events."

The newscaster turned to an elderly woman in a mink stole, who looked so far down her nose at the people around her she was practically cross-eyed.

"Simply unacceptable," she sniffed. "We pay our taxes to _keep _those things down in the sewer where they can't spread disease. I demand - "

Lars changed the channel.

A gaggle of anxious people filled the screen, some holding placards like "MONSTERS OUT" and "SAVE OUR CHILDREN".

A mother pressed a group of children to her bosom and said plaintively "It's not safe!"

Another woman nodded fiercely. "Flush 'em out!" she cried.

"Clean up our streets!" someone else yelled.

A man nodded his agreement. "This is our city," he said harshly. "_Real_ people. It's time we cleaned up the scum!"

This got a rousing cheer from the mob. Most of it, anyway. Lars couldn't help noticing a group of teenage Neptunians – who had been laughing and enjoying the show a moment ago – had suddenly gone quiet. A hulking green blob didn't look as if it liked the sound of the words "real people" either.

He turned over again.

Mayor Poopenmeyer was standing at a podium, looking harassed and trying to keep the sweat from dripping off his forehead onto his notes.

" - assure you there is no cause for concern!" he shouted over the roar of the crowd. "The mutant Turanga Leela was arrested immediately and deported to the sewers where she belongs! The situation is -"

But Lars had stopped listening at the word "arrested".

_Arrested? _

He ran to the door, panicking - and almost collided with Leela coming in the opposite direction.

"Leela! You're here!"

Leela smiled faintly.

"Hey yourself."

Lars gestured at the TV.

"They said you'd been arrested!"

"Really?" Leela glanced at the box. Then she shrugged. "That's politics, I suppose. Lie to the public first, sort out the fine detail later." She sighed at the look on his face. "They haven't arrested me yet. But they're going to."

"When?"

This was all too much, too fast for Lars.

Leela crossed to the window and peered out.

"In about five minutes. Smitty and URL are coming up the street."

"_What?_"

"I'm sorry! I was going to explain but everything happened so fast and there just wasn't time." She held out his jacket. "You still want to help?"

It took Lars a minute to realize she was talking about the last time they talked. He'd known she was going to do something crazy but he hadn't expected it would be _this_ crazy. Still, there was no way he was letting her do this alone.

He took the jacket.

"What's the plan?"

"Just follow my lead," Leela said.

She headed to the kitchen and sat down at the table, arms folded neatly in front of her. She'd taken off her communicator, Lars noticed suddenly. Of course – they could probably track her with it. Lars slipped off his own device and put it on the worktop. Leela continued to sit staring calmly in front of her.

Lars lurked awkwardly by the door, not sure what to do.

"Um. Leela?"

"Yes?"

"You're . . . you're not going to let them arrest you, right?"

"No."

"Oh. Good. Just checking."

There was a note stuck to the microwave. Lars picked it up and read it distractedly.

_You weren't there, _he read.

_You_. Not "he".

He glanced at Leela. She was still staring at the door with that eerie sense of calm about her. It would worry him less if she wasn't about to be arrested. Or if she would blink, come to that.

He looked down at the note again. _You. _It wasn't the first time Leela had done that. She had called him Fry once before, when she was half-asleep and near-delirious, and her mind had kept coming back to things like the coma and her eye operation and the first time she met her parents - all the little things that had meant more to her than he ever realized. She'd kept on insisting they mattered, and he had wondered, even then, which Fry she really wanted to tell. He suspected it wasn't him.

And then there was the other thing. Without Fry, Leela was becoming . . . unstuck, in a way. She was angry. Impulsive. Erratic. It was like he'd pulled a thread loose somewhere, and the old together Leela was unraveling. Most of the time she only seemed half there.

It didn't take a genius to work out where the rest of her was.

Lars tucked the note into his shirt pocket.

"So . . . Fry wasn't there?" he said cautiously.

Leela's perfect composure faltered, just for a second. Her mouth tightened and she touched her stomach briefly - then her hand jerked back and she began to twist the silver bracelet on her wrist instead.

"He's gone," she said shortly.

"Where?"

"I don't know."

"Are you-?"

"I'm fine."

Leela smiled. Her mouth moved, anyway. It was probably supposed to be a smile.

"I'd prefer not to talk about it," she said quietly. Lars was about to press the issue, but -

_BANG. BANG. BANG. _

"POLICE! OPEN UP! WE HAVE A WARRANT!"

Lars jumped.

"Should we get that?" he asked.

Leela shook her head.

"They'll break it down," she said.

The prospect didn't seem to worry her all that much. Her unnatural calm had returned. Unwilling to take his eyes off her, Lars groped behind him for something that could be used as a weapon. He came up holding a whisk, which wasn't all that menacing, but the robot URL had smashed the door in with one blow and there wasn't time to hunt for anything else.

The two officers burst into the room, Smitty skidding to a stop just in front of Leela.

"Turanga Leela?" he panted.

"That's me."

"I'm arresting you on suspicion of being a mutant! Do you deny the charges?"

"No. I'm a mutant." Leela laid her hands on the table, palms up, waiting for the cuffs. "You got me," she said, and Lars felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. She was being too calm, too _helpful_. This was about to go bad. He could feel it.

Smitty couldn't. He had pulled out the cuffs and was reading Leela her rights – which didn't take long, as all he had to do was say : "You're a mutant and under state law you have no rights". He leaned in . . .

. . . and Leela caught his wrists, quick as lightening, and flipped him over her head.

"Aw, no," URL drawled. "Looks like we have ourselves a mutant resisting arrest-"

Leela came flying over the table and delivered a roundhouse kick so forceful URL's head spun off its axis. The officer staggered and Lars – feeling like he should do something – hit him with the whisk. It bounced ineffectually off the robot's metal chassis.

Leela glanced at him, bewildered, and Lars shrugged.

"Sorry," he mouthed. He balled his fist and punched instead, sending URL reeling back into the microwave, just as Leela popped the door open and cranked the dial up to high. There was a loud metallic screech and – BANG! - the robot's head exploded in a shower of sparks.

Lars winced. Even knowing URL could download into a new body and wasn't actually dead, it was still nasty to watch.

On the floor, Smitty groaned. His hand inched towards his weapon, but Leela got there first. She kicked it away, smashing it against the wall, and then her boot came down hard on his hand.

Smitty screamed.

Leela bent down.

"If you want to arrest me," she said, "try harder."

"Leela!" Lars tugged urgently at her arm. "We have to get out of here. Now!"

That had not been quiet. It was only a matter of time before someone came to investigate, or before the cops sent reinforcements. Either way, they couldn't afford to stick around.

"Good point." Leela straightened up and pushed him ahead of her. "The back gate," she said. "Go!"

"Not without you," Lars insisted.

Leela looked over her shoulder. The coast, for now, was clear.

"Fine," she said. She took her jacket off the back of the chair she'd been sitting on, and reached into the pocket. "Help me with this then," she ordered, passing the video camera to him. "Hit the red button to record."

"Okay."

Lars hit the button without asking questions, and aimed the camera lens at Leela. One of the stray sparks from the exploding URL had taken out the light above their heads, but the orange jack o' lantern glow of the street lamps outside streamed in through the open window. It showed up the still-fizzing wires in URL's neck, and gave the weakened Smitty a sickly hue.

It made Leela look edgy and dangerous.

"Hello New New York," she said calmly. "So . . . I hear the mayor says I was arrested immediately."

There was a glint in her eye, and it got brighter when she smiled. She spread her hands, gesturing at the mess around her.

"Ask yourselves this: do you still think they tell you the _truth_?"

She stared into the camera for a long moment, then took it from his hand and snapped it shut.

"Time to go."

* * *

><p>Lars ran through the streets without asking where they were going. Leela had gripped his arm and tugged him in the right direction any time he veered off-course. They had smashed through a couple of neighboring yards and the back lot of a nearby mechanic, and were now most definitely in the seamier side of town. The graffiti on the walls had stopped being artistic and become gang or porno-related, and the garbage cans got emptied much less frequently. There was so much brown beer bottle glass on the ground his shoes crunched with every step. Still, they hadn't stumbled across any discarded needles yet. That was a positive.<p>

It was only when they turned into an alleyway and Leela dropped to the ground that he realized what she was planning.

"Wait, we're going to the sewer?" Lars asked, confused. "But . . . that's where _they_ wanted to take you!"

Leela heaved the manhole cover off and pushed it to one side. Rank air rose to the surface.

"How long do you think we could hold out for, if they sent reinforcements to the house?" she asked. "The sewer is sensible. I know my surroundings there, and they don't. We can hide out, plan ahead. We might even win some of the mutants round to our cause. " She shrugged. "It's worth a try."

"But if we were going there anyway-"

Leela looked up, her eye flashing.

"I'm going to the sewer because I want to," she snapped. "Not because someone dragged me there. It might not seem like a big difference but it matters to me, okay?"

She moved to swing down into the sewer but Lars stopped her, feeling guilty.

"Let me go first," he said awkwardly.

"Why?"

"I . . . the ladder might be rusted."

Leela shrugged. Maybe she didn't feel in the mood to argue. Maybe she thought there wasn't time. Either way, she decided to indulge his Stupid Ages chivalry and moved aside, letting him go first.

Lars regretted it slightly when she pulled the cover back over their heads and he found himself fumbling for footholds on the slimy ladder. The air was a dense, fetid fug, like dead things rotting in raw sewage. The harder he tried not to breathe it in the more it seemed to worm into his lungs. Clearly the mutants didn't use this opening. You could tell when a manhole saw traffic, even if it was just the occasional visitor. The air down here felt like it hadn't been disturbed in years.

"Do the mutants know you're doing this?" he asked.

Leela's voice floated down from above him.

"No," she said. "I don't even know if they'll go along with it-"

It happened fast.

One second he was talking to Leela, the next his foot punched through a rung that was suddenly as weak as paper and he reeled backwards. His hands slipped, fighting for grip, and then he was falling.

Leela shouted something, but he'd left her behind too fast to know if it was his new name she yelled or his old one. He felt sick, like his guts were trying to force their way up his throat as the foul air rushed past his face. His arms flailed wildly, but there was nothing to hold onto, just the slick walls of the tunnel. He kept missing the ladder and it suddenly occurred to Lars that he was going to die here. This should be the bit where his whole life flashed before his eyes, he knew, but he could only think of one thing.

It was Leela on Xmas Eve, with snowflakes melting in her hair.

He landed on something thick and semi-liquid and cannoned through it, the shock rattling through every bone in his body. His head smacked off something solid, and there was a crack. It might have been his skull.

The world went black.

* * *

><p>He came to lying in a puddle of sewage. Leela was leaning over him, white-faced, and he <em>ached<em>.

"So many lizards . . ." he mumbled.

Leela flinched.

"What?"

There was a length of rope hanging behind her. Of course. Leela kept rope in her jacket. She could lower herself down.

His clothes were soaked with greenish viscous gunk. When Lars sat up they made a sucking sound.

"You're safe," he croaked.

Leela stared at him in disbelief.

"I'm safe?" she said. "_I'm_ safe? What happened?"

"I slipped. Leela, it's okay. It was an accident."

Leela shook her head. She had her lips pressed together like she was trying not to cry, and her eye was shining in the gloom.

"I can't – I – you _scared_ me," she managed.

Lars raised a shaking hand and touched her cheek.

"Leela. I'm fine."

He felt the shaking die away as he pulled her in, resting her forehead against his own.

"I thought you were dead," Leela said quietly.

"So did I, for a minute. Ooof!"

Lars was surprised when Leela buried her face in his neck and hugged him tight.

"Don't ever do that again," she growled.

Lars smiled weakly.

"Is this your pregnancy hormones talking?"

Leela pulled back.

"I don't know. Maybe. These damn hormones intensify everything." She grimaced. "I cry at the drop of a hat these days."

"Yeah, I noticed."

Leela ignored this.

"I just - I don't like it when you're hurt," she said simply. She worried the bracelet on her wrist again, not looking at him. "I never have."

Lars frowned.

"You mean when I was Fry?"

Leela met his gaze, then looked away again.

"Yes."

Lars nodded.

"I guess that makes sense," he said. "I was the dumb kid from the Stupid Ages and you always had to save me from myself. It must get to be a habit. But you don't have to worry so much." He found her hand in the gloom and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I'm not that stupid kid anymore."

"I know."

Leela tugged her hand away and stood up.

"I can't turn it off," she admitted. "I see you hurt and I think I should have stopped it, or I should fix it. It's _hard_ not being in control anymore. I'm supposed to be the captain, the responsible one -"

Lars wheezed out a laugh.

"It must be driving you crazy, not being the boss of everyone."

"I'm not that bossy," Leela complained. "I have a lot of respect for other people's autonomy. Well, most of the time."

She helped him up.

"You are bossy," Lars informed her, as they limped through the sewer. "But that's you. I always liked it. It saved me having to think. We both know I'm not good at that."

Leela looked at him sidelong.

"You survived twelve years without me," she said. "You must have been doing something right."

Lars laughed.

"I just kept asking myself what you would do. And I had my lucky clover for most of it. I had some close calls though." He frowned. "A lot of close calls, actually."

"Oh."

They limped on, Lars trying not to put too much weight on Leela; which was hard, as blood loss was making his head spin and it felt like his chest was being crushed in a vice.

"He'll be okay," he said at last.

"Who?"

Lars had to hand it to her - Leela did a pretty good job of pretending not to know what he meant.

"Fry," he clarified. "He'll be fine. He won't get himself killed or anything. He'll come back."

"I know," Leela said, in a tone which wasn't all that convincing, but made one thing clear – the topic was not up for discussion. She had freaked out when she thought he was dead, and maybe the shock had opened her up briefly . . . but now her emotions were back under lock and key, and there was no getting them out.

Her faraway expression was the only hint they were there at all.

* * *

><p>Leela left him in a building she called the mutant medical center. It didn't look like any hospital Lars had ever been in. If anything, it reminded him of the shack his dad had always used for ice-fishing. Plank walls, pitch-tarred roof, falling to pieces. Most of the furniture was broken, or made out of discarded crates. There was some medical paraphernalia (which looked like it had been new last century) and an effort had been made to brighten up the place with homemade posters on the walls. They depicted smiling, colorful mutants urging the denizens of the sewer to pre-boil their water and not to go out on the lake alone.<p>

Leela had called some kind of town meeting, and it seemed like every mutant of importance was there. That included most of their medical staff. Lars had been left in the hands of a girl who looked like a lizard, who Leela said was some kind of nurse. She didn't say much at all; just stared at him with large yellow eyes and rasped in a sharp, nervous breath every time he tried to talk to her.

She bound up his ribs while his foot tapped impatiently. It usually didn't take this long to apply bandages. Then again, most doctors weren't so afraid to touch him. This girl cringed away every time her fingers came into contact with his bare skin. At this rate the mutant meeting would be over by the time Lars got there.

"Hi," he said, smiling in an attempt to put her at ease. "I'm Lars."

The girl flushed a deeper shade of green.

"I know who you are," she mumbled. "You're married to Leela. You're from the surface."

"I was," Lars confirmed. "I guess I'm not any more. Married to Leela, I mean. I don't know about the surface thing. It wasn't the surface when I was born, it was just New York." He smiled. "Times change, huh?"

The lizard girl blinked rapidly, her fingers fumbling over the spool of bandages.

"They . . . they do?" she asked, bewildered.

In the sewer, apparently not. Lars decided to change tack.

"What's your name?" he asked.

The girl flushed again.

"Skreem," she said.

"Oh. Er. That's a pretty name . . ."

"It's not." Skreem shook her head miserably. "It's because that's the first thing people do when they see me. They scream."

"What, even your parents? That's mean."

"I never knew my parents," Skreem said quietly. "My mom never told anyone she was pregnant. I think she was a teenager and she got scared, maybe. If she saw me I don't blame her." She smiled sadly. "I was dragged up in one of the fishing nets when I was a few hours old. I think she threw me into the lake."

Lars stared at her.

"Wait, what? She _threw you in the lake_?"

"She was scared."

"And you're okay with that?"

Lars struggled to wrap his head around this.

Skreem shrugged.

"I work here," she said quietly. "I see a lot of scared pregnant women. I see a lot of babies that die, and a lot of pregnancies that don't work out, and I understand now how someone could be that scared. I mean . . . I think I understand."

"That doesn't make it right," Lars argued. "You can't just toss a baby in a lake like throwing back a catch. You're a person, not a – not a – I don't know! It's not right!"

The girl's eyes had gone as wide as coins. She was staring at him like she'd never seen a human before. (Oh, right, she probably hadn't. But still.)

She blinked very quickly, as if resetting her brain.

"It's okay," she said at last. "Like I said, they fished me out really quickly. Then they gave me to Brynda to look after, here at the hospital. I think they were hoping someone would come forward for me. But they never did and no-one else wanted me, so I kind of became hers." She smiled, her lips cracking painfully as she did so. "It was the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Who's Brynda?" Lars asked, mostly because he didn't want to say _'the corner of your mouth is oozing'._

"The midwife. The lady with all the teeth? Oh. Maybe you haven't met her yet." Skreem shrugged. "Most people don't think so, but she's the kindest person I know. I grew up here in the hospital. She taught me to swim and to dress wounds, to do all kinds of things. Useful things."

"Like bandaging ribs?"

"Uh-huh."

The girl ducked her head. He liked her, Lars realized. She was sweet, even if she did look like something out of an old-school horror movie.

"How old are you?" he asked curiously.

"Fourteen," she said.

"Fourteen? Wow. I couldn't do _anything_ useful when I was fourteen. Well, I could do a septuple head spin," Lars mused. "But that probably doesn't count."

The girl laughed. It made her sound like a spice weasel with asthma, but in this case, Lars decided, that was a good thing.

He waved a hand at his ribs.

"Am I done?"

Skreem stepped back and surveyed her handiwork. Lars had bandages on his ribs, and a thick wad of cotton soaking up the blood on the back of his head. She had given him a crutch to take the weight off his sprained ankle.

The mutant girl nodded.

"You're done."

"Great!"

Lars swung himself off the table and heaved his weight onto the crutch, wincing. He held out the other arm to Skreem with what he hoped was an enticing smile.

"Could you help me to this meeting everyone's gone to? I don't think I can make it that far on my own. Plus . . . I don't know where it is. So there's that. Two problems, for the price of one!" He paused. "I could really use a hand."

Skreem moved towards him nervously, like she was still afraid to make bodily contact with a surface person. When Lars put his arm around her shoulder, she flinched. Then she realized he wasn't going to hit her or reject her, and a smile broke out across her face.

She hugged him around the waist – Lars was careful not to give any indication of how extremely painful this was – and they set off.

* * *

><p>The meeting was being held by the lake. The mutants ringed the shore; a circle of densely-packed, anxious faces. The mayor and Mouth Mutant stood on a plinth, conferring in urgent whispers. Leela stood a little way behind them. She was flanked on either side by her parents.<p>

Even at this distance Lars could tell she was tense. He wanted to touch her, he thought sadly. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her until the tension drained away, and he couldn't and it was his own stupid fault.

He sighed and nudged Skreem.

"What's happening?"

"They're counting the votes," she whispered."Then they tell the announcer and he tells everyone else." She pointed at Mouth Mutant. "He's the announcer, because he's the loudest."

"Makes sense."

Mouth Mutant cleared all his throats at once. The noise sounded like machine gun fire, and it made the already quiet crowd even quieter. Silence rolled out over the sewer.

All eyes were on Mouth Mutant, but Lars could only see Leela. He could only watch her face as the multiple voices of the announcer boomed out:

"_The will of the mutant people . . . is war!"_


	44. Chapter 44

**A / N: Holy camoley, this story has nearly 100,000 words. **

**Thank you Forgotsurname, HG Blob, LadyBender, firetemplar415, Raymie Stardust, and Guest for leaving such incredible feedback.**

* * *

><p>He was dreaming of Leela again.<p>

It wasn't like he wanted to, Fry thought dejectedly. Every night before he fell asleep he ordered his brain to think of something else, like Morbo, or Planet of the Apes, or Donkey Kong. Or pizza. Or bowling. Or his old dog Seymour, or monster truck rallies, or All My Circuits or Bender or the Brainspawn or even the Professor's false teeth.

_Anything_.

And every night, without fail, he dreamed of Leela.

Sometimes he dreamed of stupid things, like taking her to a truck-stop arcade or sharing take-out on Thanksgiving. Snatches of a life they'd never have together.

Sometimes he didn't even remember the dreams clearly; he just woke up thinking about her smile or the way her breath caught when he kissed the nape of her neck, and knew he'd been dreaming of it.

Mostly he dreamed of the things he wouldn't let himself remember during the day. His memories of Leela were like a loose tooth his tongue kept coming back to prod at – he couldn't seem to leave them alone. He kept trying to force them down but they welled up again at night, and replayed themselves while he slept.

Right now he was dreaming of that night at Planet Express, when Leela had kissed him and he had made the monumental mistake of kissing back, kick-starting this whole mess.

_They made their way to Leela's cabin locked together, shedding clothes and stumbling into things as they went. Fry knocked something heavy off the wall – a fire extinguisher or an oxygen canister, or something. Leela kicked it aside without so much as glancing at it. She was still kissing him - like they were doing mouth-to-mouth, like she couldn't breathe without him, like he was the only real thing left in the world._

_The back of her knees hit the bed frame and she fell back onto the bed, dragging Fry with her. _

_And laughing. She was laughing, he realized. _

_Leela hardly ever laughed._

"_What?" he said nervously. "What's funny? What did I do?"_

_Leela watched him fret, as if it was some interesting new thing she'd never seen before. She ran her thumb over his lower lip, smiling, then buried her hands in his hair and pulled him down into another kiss. _

_When he pulled away, gasping for air, she laughed again. _

"_I don't know," she murmured. _

_Her teeth tugged at his bottom lip; her mouth pressed warm against his cheek, in the hollow of his throat . . . he felt her next words against his skin. _

"_But I think I like it."_

* * *

><p>The truck bumped to an abrupt stop, jolting him out of his seat, and Fry awoke. Hitting the roof had that effect on a person, even when they were a million miles away dreaming of Leela.<p>

_Leela . . . _

He groaned. That had been bad.

He hated those dreams, the memory ones. Playing it all over again seemed to stir up his feelings and send his thoughts spinning in uncomfortable new directions. Right now, for instance, he was wondering if Leela ever dreamed of him the way he dreamed of her, if she ever woke up aching for him the way he ached for her.

With an effort, he forced her from his mind.

"Where are we?" he mumbled, rubbing the top of his head.

Glottus glanced at him from the driver's seat.

"Unoccupied moon orbiting Jupiter," he grunted. "Time for a pit stop and a paint job."

He tossed a can of spray-paint at Fry, who groaned again. He'd been hoping his information about the Brainspawn could be his main contribution to this partnership. But it looked like Captain Glottus expected him to do the grunt work too.

The delivery boy tossed the can idly from hand to hand as he looked around.

They were inside a huge transparent dome. The ground beneath his feet was dusty and dull, like that of Earth's moon, but Fry couldn't bring himself to care because he got to stretch his legs and breathe non-recycled air for a change. After three days in a tiny delivery truck, _no-one_ would complain about that. He breathed deep, happy to clear his head.

"So we're the only people on this whole planet?"

Glottus shrugged.

"There's a migrant family squatting in the supply station," he said. "But other than that, sure."

The migrant family turned out to be six bug-like Cygnoids, skinny for their species and distrustful of humans. The father of the family – as near as Fry could tell, it was the father, anyway – came to talk to them, while the mother hid behind the fuel canisters with their three children, and some aged relative of indeterminate sex. She clicked her mandibles nervously, glaring daggers at Glottus. Clearly she had strong feelings about the DOOP.

Apparently her husband shared them.

"You are DOOP?" he asked as they approached. "We do no harm. No harm! We stay, we clean station. Do no harm. Please, no hurt us. No harm!"

Glottus sighed.

"Relax," he said. "We're not DOOP. Not anything. And we're not here, understand?"

The Cygnoid narrowed his eyes, taking in the captain's tattered uniform with an expression that said '_yeah, right_'.

"Not DOOP?"

"No."

"We're not DOOP," Fry chipped in, as if anyone cared what he thought. "Not at all. We're more like the anti-DOOP. Hi."

"And we're not here," Glottus repeated. "Do I need to say that again?"

The Cygnoid shifted into a more open stance, his mouth quirking up in a grin.

"Not here," he nodded. "Understood. Mr Cross DOOP Man, not here. Orange-Hair Boy, not here." He glanced at the Slurm van, which was still carrying a sizeable amount of cargo. "Three crates Sloorm for me, sell on black market, also not here."

"_Three crates!_" Fry yelped, but Glottus had already stuck out his hand.

"Done," he said. He glared at Fry. "Hand 'em over."

"We could've haggled," Fry complained, but he unloaded the crates anyway and watched Glottus hand them over. The captain wasn't someone you said no to. He had been in command so long he seemed to forget other people actually had opinions.

Not that Fry really minded. It was a relief not to have to think all the time.

* * *

><p>It took him most of the evening to spray the truck red and unscrew the license plate. He found the piece de resistance on an old barrel – a logo for Molten Boron, which Fry peeled off and stuck on the side of the truck, completing the camouflage.<p>

He stepped back to admire his handiwork.

"Nice job," Glottus said behind him. "You work at a chop shop or something?"

Fry shook his head.

"No," he said truthfully. "But my friend Bender used to fix up hovercars and sell them on for profit. He operated out of our apartment 'til his supply line dried up. He used to let me redesign the exteriors."

He frowned. He still wasn't sure that had been entirely legal, but the cops had never come to call, so it must've been.

"He said I had a real knack for it," he continued happily.

"I see that." Glottus shook his head. "Well, you're done. You may as well eat."

He jerked his thumb at a fire a little way off. A pot of stew was bubbling above it. It was murky and brown, but Fry could recognize some of the lumps in it, so he ladled out a bowlful and decided not to complain. So what if the meat was boiled white in some places and charred black in others? That was nothing compared with the meals Bender had served him over the years.

"Are they gonna eat with us?" he asked hopefully, indicating the hut where the migrant family lived. "It sure would be nice to talk to someone new."

The hint clanged off the top of Glottus's head.

"They don't like fugitives," he said bluntly.

"Or the DOOP."

"Or the DOOP. No," the captain said, chewing thoughtfully. "You can tell me more about these brains."

Fry groaned.

"I already told you everything I know."

"Then tell me again."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

This wasn't the first time Glottus had asked him to reveal everything he knew about the Brainspawn. He kept asking in different ways, like he was trying to catch Fry off guard or jog his memory, and he watched his face closely every time. Today was no exception. His eyes bored into Fry's over the fire as the delivery boy recited the story again.

"Fine," Fry muttered. "Like I _already told you_, they're giant flying brains, and they can control people by making them stupid."

"How?"

"I don't know. Telepathic rays or something. Science."

"Right. But these rays don't affect you?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"I 'unno." Fry shrugged.

"You're the only being in the universe not affected by these creatures, and you don't know why."

"Nope."

And then the captain was right in front of him. He seized Fry's jaw in one strong hand, turning his face back and forth.

"No," he said. "There must be something. Maybe you were bio-engineered."

"I don't even know what that is!" Fry protested, trying to wriggle free.

"Means bred for a purpose," Glottus explained. "Maybe someone tampered with your genetics to make a weapon against the brains."

"Why would anyone would do that?" Fry scoffed, still wriggling. "C'mon, a human weapon? That's a dumb idea. You'd have to be crazy to think like that."

"Or a government," Glottus countered. "Believe me, they eat that shit up. You should see the budget for R&D at the DOOP." He let Fry go, albeit reluctantly. "A human weapon would be right up their alley," he continued. "It'd do what the rest of us can't. These brain things could destroy us all. But if scientists found a gene that makes you immune to their power . . . why not stick it in some kid and see how it turns out? You could breed a whole army from it. Nixon would."

"I'm not a weapon," Fry sputtered. "No-one _bred_ me, jeez! They just cancelled a game and my mom got bored. I was an accident, she told me all the time. Anyway, I was born a thousand years ago. We couldn't even clone pineapples back then."

Glottus frowned.

"You were born a thousand years ago?" he repeated. "How did you get here?"

"I fell in a freezer. It was an accident."

"An accident."

"Yeah." Fry shifted uncomfortably. "I have a lot of accidents."

Glottus was staring at him in a way he didn't like.

"I nearly ran you over," the captain said.

"Yeah, see? It was an acc-"

"The only person in the universe who can fight these brains, and the only one who knows they're out there," Glottus continued, talking over him. "And we meet by accident. That's a heck of a coincidence, don't you think?"

Fry fell silent.

"Maybe," he said, but for the first time, he felt less sure of himself.

"What are you saying?" he asked at last. "You think someone out there is controlling my life and making it look like an accident? Or . . . or some big mysterious force keeps putting me in the right place at the right time? Like _destiny_?" He laughed. "That's nuts."

"Is it?" Glottus rubbed his head, obviously feeling frustrated. "Look," he said impatiently, "you might believe in coincidences, but I sure as hell don't. So you're probably not some sort of biologically engineered warrior – you're too scrawny, and you don't have the brains to conduct a stealth operation – but something doesn't fit here. I want to find out what."

Fry pushed his bowl aside. The stew wasn't great, but it was the conversation that had really taken the edge off his appetite. Maybe it was crazy to think he had a destiny, but there was a weird, unsettled feeling in his stomach and for some reason he kept thinking of Nibbler.

Nibbler had believed there was something wrong in the universe. Nibbler had believed it had something to do with him. At the time he hadn't paid any attention, but now . . .

He swallowed.

"Sometimes . . . sometimes I feel like I know more about the brains," he admitted. "More I can't remember."

Glottus considered this.

"Makes sense," he said at last. "Maybe you met these things more than once. Maybe someone scrubbed your memory."

"What?" Fry panicked. "Who would do that? Why would anyone do that?"

Glottus laughed.

"You're really not that smart, are you? Look, kid, even if you weren't created to fight these things, you're the key to defeating them. Someone out there wants you under their control. Controlling how you see the world – who you meet, what you know – means they can control what you think. And if they control what you think, they can control what you _do_. They know which buttons to push. It's Manipulation 101."

Fry tried to process this. It was difficult.

"So . . . you're saying I met the Brainspawn again, after that time I beat them in the library? And then someone wiped my memory so I wouldn't . . . so I wouldn't . . . start . . ."

"Thinking, probably. Or thinking the wrong thing."

"What's the wrong thing?"

"Anything they don't want you to think." Glottus yawned. "I told you, I don't have all the answers, kid. I don't even know if I'm asking the right questions here. But at least I'm asking. You might want to do the same."

He stretched out by the fire and shut his eyes.

"Keep watch," he ordered.

Fry nodded vaguely. He poked at the fire with a stick, trying to marshal his thoughts. Who would want to control him?

The Professor? Maybe. He was amoral enough, for sure, but he was getting senile these days and it was hard to believe he could keep track of anything that long.

Bender? No. Bender was his friend, he wouldn't do that. Not unless he was getting paid serious money, and even then, it would be a little too much like honest work for his taste. So Bender was unlikely.

Nibbler? He talked a lot about big, deep ideas, and he did say his people watched over the universe . . . but that made them the good guys. The good guys wouldn't wipe your memory without asking, so they could use you when they wanted to. The good guys wouldn't manipulate you. Manipulation was not A Good Guy Thing To Do.

Fry poked the fire again, and watched the sparks spit over his shoes.

More than anything, he wished Leela would appear and help him think.

_Leela . . ._

And suddenly, mentally, he was somewhere else.

_He was hiding under a table, drawing patterns in the dust on the floor. He was angry and confused, but then a ray of hope shone through; a thought that made his heart swell. _

"_You really think I would have had a chance with Leela?"_

Fry blinked and he was back. He was staring into the embers of the fire and there was a taste in his mouth like . . . like . . .

_Purple. _

What the hell was that? It wasn't a memory, he was sure of that.

Well. Ten minutes ago he would have been sure of that.

He frowned. Start asking questions, Glottus had said. Maybe it was time he did. Maybe it was time he stopped letting other people think for him and used his brain. What did he have to go on, right now? What did he know?

He knew the Brainspawn were flying around killing people. Why? They weren't killing famous people or high-up people, and they weren't staging big battles in space. They were just killing anyone who got in their way.

So they were going somewhere. They had to be. They were trying to get somewhere and killing anyone who saw them, so wherever they were going, it must be a secret.

Fry rubbed his forehead, groaning. All this thinking was giving him a headache, but he finally felt like he was getting somewhere.

Where would the Brainspawn want to go? That was the next big question. What did they want? What did a big flying brain _need_? Money? Food? (Did they even eat?) A planet to live on? The only thing he really knew was that thinking hurt them, and while it was good they had a weakness, this didn't tell him much about what they might be planning.

The worst part was he probably knew. He probably had memories about the Brains, locked away in some purple-tasting part of his brain he couldn't access.

He tried thinking of Leela again, to see if that might trigger something, but the memories seemed beyond his control. No surprising new flashbacks hit him; just the same old hollow loneliness. Straining his mind didn't help – that just threw up the kind of memories he didn't want to relive, like the way Leela bit his lip sometimes when she kissed him, or the look on her face when she told him to let her go. He didn't want to see those things.

He stepped across the campfire and shook Glottus awake.

That was his intention, anyway. He'd forgotten the guy was an old soldier and a fugitive, and kinda tetchy. The man sprang up as soon as Fry touched his shoulder and instinctively reached for his gun. He had fired off three rounds of lurid blue stun charges before the sleep even left his eyes.

Fry ducked, cursing his own impulsiveness, and the shots sank harmlessly into the sand.

"I remembered something!" he cried, when it seemed safe to do so.

The captain tossed his gun aside with a grunt of annoyance.

"I was trying to sleep, kid."

"I know, but I remembered something!"

Glottus sighed.

"Fine. What is it?"

"Uh." Fry deflated a little. "I don't know exactly. But it made everything taste purple for a second, and I swear I never remembered it before. I think someone wiped my memory, like you said!"

"That shouldn't come as a surprise," Glottus grumbled. He was yawning again, and apparently wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep. "Anything else?"

"I want to remember more. Everything! How do I do that?"

"I don't know. Wait for it to come back."

Fry blinked. This wasn't the answer he'd been expecting.

"What? No! I can't just sit around and wait! What if I know something really important?" He ground his teeth, frustrated. There had to be a faster way. "There must be someone who can make me remember. This is the future! You guys can do anything! One time I nearly got gills. Memories can't be that hard to get back!"

"It's not that easy." Glottus scratched his cheek. "You need to understand, kid . . . sometimes you can break something easy, but it's hard to fix." He threw some fuel on the remains of the fire and blew on it to build up the flame again. "There's a way," he admitted. "But I don't know if it's worth the risk."

"Hey, it's my brain and I don't care," Fry said quickly. "What do I do? Tell me!"

The captain's eyes flashed.

"I care," he snapped. "We're talking about letting some crackpot doctor dope you up and dig around in your subconscious. Worst case scenario? You go under and never come up again - or you come up and leave your mind behind. You're our only weapon against these brains, and you're only any good if you can think. That's what hurts the Brainspawn. _That's_ our only hope of fighting these fuckers. I won't mess with that if I don't have to."

Fry swallowed.

"Oh. Then I guess I . . . I guess I'll try and remember," he said limply.

"That'd be the smart thing to do," the captain grunted. "Now if you don't mind, we need to be out of here in an hour and I could use some sleep." He tucked the gun back in his belt and tapped the barrel with a pointed expression. "Wake me again and I won't miss, kid."

He was snoring again in five minutes flat, scowling in his sleep. Fry took to staring at the fire again, trying to coax his brain into co-operating for once.

_Just remember, _he thought desperately. _C'mon! Think about the brains, think about whatever you did, c'mon . . ._

The fire burned steadily in the windless dome. The air didn't even move here – it felt as stagnant as his thoughts.

On the other side of the dome, the mother of the Cygnoid family scuttled out and started hanging out their washing. There was a fat baby larvae-thing in her arms. She was singing to it; a high cicadian hum that buzzed in Fry's ears.

He huddled into his red jacket and stared up through the roof of the dome, at the stars. It would be nice, just once in his life, to get something right. Lately it felt like all he ever did was stuff things up. He had tried to win Leela over and failed, had tried to forget her and failed . . . now all he wanted was to remember something he already knew, and he was even failing at that.

Fry had never spent much time evaluating his life, but he was starting to feel conscious of the holes in it. Right now he had no friends. No family. No Leela.

He didn't know where he belonged anymore, or what he was supposed to be doing. Beating the Brainspawn was the only thing that made sense. Maybe that was what he was supposed to do with his life? Maybe that was the one thing he might actually get right?

This wasn't a comforting thought, exactly, but it wasn't a bad one either. It just filled him up from the inside out, pushing aside anything else. For the first time in weeks Fry found he didn't want to get drunk and forget everything. He wanted to do something instead, and keep doing it, not just sit and wait for something to happen to him.

That was all he ever did, he realized. Sit and wait for stuff to happen. He acted like life would just keep pushing him along in the right direction when he didn't even bother to steer. No wonder Leela got frustrated with him. He left it all up to her, all the time. He just assumed she knew what she was doing.

He hadn't ever stopped to think that maybe she didn't - that maybe she was just as lost as he was on this. Fry hadn't understood that until it was too late - until she was kissing him and he could taste tears in her mouth; until she was arguing with Bender and he could feel her hands shake; until he was telling her he loved her because he didn't know what else to say.

_I'm sorry, Leela, _he thought.

Above him, a star flickered and winked out. Lost in his own thoughts, Fry failed to notice.


	45. Chapter 45

**A / N: I work too much and earn too little. Such is life. To make up for the wait, have this extra-long chapter! (Took up eleven pages of my Word. Whew.) **

**Thanks to Caitiann, Forgotsurname, LadyBender and broken halleluiah for reviewing last time!**

* * *

><p>Lars hobbled through the gloomy mutant streets, side-stepping the occasional pool of toxic sludge. He was acutely aware of the sound of his crutch, tapping sharply on every hard surface. The lights were going down all around him, as gas lamps were snuffed out and glow-worms got stomped on. Silence spread like spilled treacle through the dark. His crutch, and his own heavy breathing, were all he could hear. Both sounded uncomfortably loud in the empty streets.<p>

"Leela!" he hissed. "_Leela!_ Where are you?"

Most of the mutants were already in defensive positions around the subterranean settlement, too well-hidden for him to spot them. Those who couldn't fight had been evacuated to the town hall, and Lars had been among them . . . until he realized Leela wasn't. She was out there, and the shit was about to hit the fan. Once he realized that no force in the world could have kept him away.

He muffled a shout as a small shadow detached itself from a nearby doorway and barreled across the street. It ran into him, steadied him on his feet again, and thrust a hand over his mouth.

A small, scaly hand.

"Skreem?"

The figure was the right height to be hers, and the dry, rough scales coating her skin were a rarity even among mutants. As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, Lars made out a pair of yellow irises at shoulder-height. They looked to be glowing in the gloom.

"You shouldn't be here," the girl whispered.

"Either should you," Lars pointed out. "You're a kid!"

"You can't fight though. You're _hurt_."

"My arms work fine," Lars shot back. "I can work a gun. I once tranked a moose. Anyway, how much experience do you have? What makes you think you can fight half the NNYPD?"

Skreem shrugged. Lars felt her shoulders bob, anyway, which he took for a shrug.

"No-one said I couldn't," she said simply.

"You're a kid," Lars insisted. "You should be somewhere safe."

He felt like this point wasn't being paid enough attention.

Sure enough Skreem simply blinked at him, then seemed to disregard his concern as some alien surface concept.

"I can take you to Leela," she said instead. "But we need to hurry, Mr Filmore. The soldiers are coming soon, and we're not supposed to be on the streets when they get here."

"They're not soldiers," Lars absently. "They're cops."

"What's the difference?"

"Uh . . . when they kill people they don't get medals, I think."

His focus was elsewhere. He needed to get to Leela, and now that Skreem was here he couldn't just leave her either.

"Alright, take me to Leela," he decided at last. "But stay with me."

He held out an arm, grateful when the mutant girl ducked under it and let him lean on her. Truthfully, Lars knew he was pretty much useless in his current condition, and should probably stay out of everyone else's way and let them get on with whatever the hell they were planning. But he had promised to stick by Leela. He couldn't abandon her now. Nor could he abandon the ugly mutant girl whose own mother had once tossed her in the lake. Lars wasn't sure when he had grown so attached to Skreem, but at some point he had. She had stitched him up after he nearly died, and she had no-one. He knew well enough how that felt; saw too much of his own loneliness in her lizard-like features. Leaving her behind just wouldn't be right.

Neither of them spoke as they headed in the direction of the shore.

The silence was somehow stifling. Nothing moved in it. Lars knew there must be mutants all around them but the shadows were so deep he couldn't make them out. The main street – a narrow boulevard of nailed-down wooden boards - stretched all the way to the lakeshore. Clapboard houses loomed up on either side. Every cart had been cleared out of the way. Lars knew the mutants had better night-vision than him – they would have no problem picking him out now, even in poor light – but there was something comforting about the dark all the same. It made him feel less exposed.

He was disproportionately relieved when they stopped at last at a house by the barge-post. Skreem made a shushing motion and shimmied up the drainpipe, her scales rasping on the tin roof. There was a small scuffle, a burst of furious whispering - and then Leela appeared on the edge of the roof, looking murderous.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed.

Lars rubbed the inside of his wrist, where the weight of the crutch had created an ache.

"Helping," he said steadily. "I said I wouldn't let you do this alone, remember?"

"You can't even walk. What if you get shot, or knocked in the lake?" Leela swung down onto the sidewalk and glared at him. "Do you know how many ways you could die out here? What were you _thinking_?"

"I wanted to help."

"You won't help me much if you're dead, Lars."

Lars considered this.

"That's not true," he pointed out. "You could use my body as a human shield. What if you died and my corpse could've blocked the shot? I'd never forgive myself if that happened."

Leela looked like she had a serious objection to this, but couldn't decide whether shouting or hitting him would express it best. Her lips moved, trying to form words, but nothing came out. Lars decided to take advantage of her speechlessness.

"I'm staying, Leela," he insisted.

Leela found her voice at last.

"Of all the stupid, stubborn things you've ever -" she began heatedly.

Lars found himself grinning.

"There is no way this is the worst," he argued. "What about the time you poured away that super-Slurm on Wormulon, and I tried to chew my arms off so I could keep drinking it? That was a _lot_ stupider than this. You know it was."

He stepped forward, still smiling, and touched Leela's arm. The action seemed to bother her – her cheeks reddened, and she lost the thread of her argument again.

"Or there was that time I was emperor of Trisol," Lars continued, "and I wouldn't let you save my stupid life, because I thought you were a nag. Remember that? You kept trying to get through to me and all I could think about was some story about a grasshopper who sang all summer and mooched off his girlfriend. Or something. I don't really remember."

Leela swallowed.

"It was an octopus," she said vaguely.

"You remember that?" Lars was surprised.

Leela simply shrugged.

"I _remember_ thinking I should've knocked you out and dragged you back to the ship," she said. "It would have saved us both a lot of trouble."

Then she sighed, the fight unexpectedly draining out of her.

"Give me that."

She snatched his crutch and tapped it lightly against the wall, moving to support his weight in one swift motion. At the sound of the tapping, Skreem poked her head over the edge of the roof and took the crutch. She stashed it somewhere out of sight, then leaned over again, arms outstretched.

Leela ignored her, turning back to Lars with a hard look on her face. To his surprise, she pulled a gun out of the holster at her hip and pressed it into his hand. The barrel felt cool against his palm.

"Wh-?"

"Don't use it unless you have to," Leela said tersely.

"I . . . right. Got it. Thanks."

Lars tucked the gun into his belt. Leela's moods changed so fast these days he was almost always caught off-guard by them. Morris blamed it on her hormones, and advised Lars to keep out of her way unless he wanted her to rip off his head - but personally, Lars only put half the blame on Leela being pregnant. She had enough on her mind to drive anyone crazy.

Still, she was letting him stay. It would be stupid to waste time wondering why.

"Keep quiet," she ordered. "And stay low. Don't do anything I don't tell you to, understand?"

Lars nodded. He reached up to take Skreem's hands, flinching at the pain in his ribs as he did so. Leela wrapped her arms around his waist and lifted him up from the ground as the mutant girl tugged on his arms. Between them they managed to haul him onto the roof with minimum agony – though Lars was still lying on his back, wincing at each fresh flowering of pain, when Leela climbed up behind him.

She sighed.

"I did tell you-"

"I know," he panted. "I know."

She left him there to recover while she went to sort her cache of weapons – including what looked like a crossbow. The arrows for it had heads made of thickly-wound rags, and there was a half-full canister of dark matter oil sitting next to them. Flames danced in a second, smaller can.

"Fire?" Lars gasped. He wasn't up for full sentences yet.

"Fire," Leela affirmed. Close to, she looked pale and tense.

"What's the plan?"

"We drive them towards the lake," his wife said quietly.

Lars nodded. He could see the sense in it. Fire on one side, mutagens on another. If the mutants could compress the NNYPD into a small enough area, the surface force would likely surrender. After all, they had no personal stake in this fight. The average beat cop might not harbor any love for mutants, but they weren't the ones pushing a political agenda here. They were just following orders. Deport mutants, suppress mutants, arrest mutants . . . that much they would do without thinking, but Skreem was right – the NNYPD _weren't_ soldiers. They didn't have it drummed into them to die for a cause.

With any luck, they wouldn't want to.

* * *

><p>They came from the Eastern Pipeway.<p>

The Pipeway was a relic of the sewer's earliest years; a mile-long length of concrete tunnel tall enough to accommodate even the bulkiest mutants – who were the only ones hardy enough to work there, in any case. It was formed where the drains from the cattle mart met the effluence pipes from the docks. The result of this union was a permanent, immovable layer of excrement at least three feet deep. Tunnel repairs could only be carried out in winter, when it froze solid. During the summer it became a fetid, sucking swamp only the very foolish would venture anywhere near. Crocodiles and deadly pathogens were said to incubate in its depths, and the smell was reported to have knocked frailer mutants unconscious. By Fall it was less lethal, but still thoroughly unpleasant. The only reason the NNYPD would risk coming that way would be if they needed the space to maneuver.

They needed it.

Men and women poured out of the tunnel, indistinguishable under heavy riot gear. Every officer wore high boots and visored helmets, and carried a four-foot plastic riot shield. At the head of the column was a blunt-featured, heavily muscled figure which could only be female – no male officer had hips that wide, or, well . . . breasts that big. (Lars snuck a glance at Leela, and breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't noticed him make this observation.) The woman looked to be in charge. She was shouting into a loud-hailer, and the gun strapped to her hip was easily the biggest on display. Behind her came ten, twenty, fifty . . .

He looked to Leela again for help.

"A hundred," she mouthed.

Her eye had acquired that odd, bright gleam again. She was gripping her weapon so hard her knuckles glowed white in the gloom.

The tramp of booted feet filled the streets, getting louder, closer . . .

A horn sounded - a harsh, jarring blast – and then there was a sound like a hundred indrawn breaths, and flaming arrows tore through the night.

* * *

><p>Heat. Noise.<p>

The acrid tang of burning dark matter oil, and the sheen of sweat on Leela's forehead as she flipped her bangs out of the way to take aim.

The battle raged all around him, but Lars felt strangely detached from it. It had been a long time since he'd had to recover from an injury the old-fashioned way, and even he could admit dragging himself halfway across town in his current condition had been a bad idea. Maybe he'd forgotten what pain really felt like, or maybe he was just getting older – either way, his ribs constricted with every movement, making dark spots dance before his eyes. Every time he tried to get up he was forced back and the battle slipped out of focus again, like a satellite signal that kept cutting out.

From his prone position on the roof, the arrows fell like fiery comets.

_Get up_, he told himself. _Get up, get up, help Leela . . . _

With an effort, he crawled to the edge of the roof.

The streets below were limned in fire. Even from a distance, it was clear the NNYPD were losing ground. They were packed in too close to maneuver, and every time they tried to break formation or push forward more mutants came surging up from the narrow side-streets, driving them back even as fire ate at their boots.

Leela was holding her own, loosing arrows with an almost robotic efficiency. Her shoulders were tensed, her expression wiped blank again, just as it had been when she took out Smitty and URL. She wasn't afraid. She wasn't anything, as far as Lars could tell. It was as if she'd sent all her emotions someplace where they couldn't interfere with the task at hand. She didn't even react as a slug of metal zinged past her head, narrowly missing her. She simply ignited an arrow and took aim in retaliation.

Lars watched her fire, unnerved. Her first shot hit a riot shield, warping the plastic and blinding the man who hid behind it. He threw the shield aside, coughing away acrid black fumes, and Leela's next shot hit him square in the chest. This time the man himself went up like a torch, screaming as the fire licked at his flesh. His companions tried to beat it out of him, but he was twisting, screaming, tearing at his clothes . . . . he dived into the lake, convulsing violently, and sank beneath the surface with a look of relief. Lars watched for a long minute, but the surface stayed still. The man wasn't coming back up again.

Lars dragged his attention back to the battle. The NNYPD were more disordered than ever. They had been pushed right to the edge of the lake. The brawny female officer was trying to keep order but the casualties were stacking up and it was obvious morale had taken a serious dip. As he watched, a skinny Filipino officer went up like the human torch. Fortunately he had the sense to drop and roll. A female officer's helmet began to melt on her head. It seared her hands as she tugged it off and she screamed – but then she lobbed it underarm at the approaching mutants. They scattered like bowling pins and she went for her gun, firing off two shots in quick succession. On a neighboring rooftop, someone screamed, and a dark shape tumbled into the lake. Lars shuddered.

On his own rooftop Leela was still firing, unfazed. Skreem had curled into a tight, shaking ball beside her. At first glance Lars thought the girl had been hit, but then he realized she was only scared. The noise, the heat, the surface people and their dying screams . . . all of it must be new and frightening to her. The fire too, maybe – she had her hands pressed over her eyes like the light might burn her if she looked too closely at it. Maybe it would? Her yellow eyes looked built for the gloom of the sewer – for all Lars knew, they might be sensitive to bright light. He reached out instinctively. Skreem fell into his arms, crushing his ribs as she clutched at him in terror.

"Shh . . . shh . . ." he soothed uselessly. "It's okay. I won't let them hurt you. You're safe, it's okay . . ."

He didn't know what he was saying, but his tone seemed to calm her, so he kept talking. The girl had buried her face in the front of his shirt, soaking it in something that might have been tears and might have been the green gunk she oozed sometimes. She felt fragile in his arms.

"You're too little to be out here," he said softly.

Skreem sniffled into his shirt and Lars suddenly realized he could no longer hear the hiss of Leela's arrows. She must have run out of ammo at last.

He looked up to find her caught in the act of dousing the fire. She was staring at him, and she was recognizable as Leela again. But something had finally cracked her calm composure, and he had no idea what it was. Her mouth was hanging open a little and her eye was round and wobbly-looking, like she'd cut herself and the wound had just started to smart.

"Leela?"

His voice snapped her out of it. She put the fire out, and Lars lost sight of her face.

"I'm fine," she said thickly. "You're very . . . you're very good with her. You should stay here." He heard her breathe in deep. "I'm going down. It's time to talk."

Her boots squeaked on spilled oil. Lars heard her hair swish, smelled smoke and sweat . . . something soft touched his cheek, and then she was gone.

She had kissed him, he realized.

She was scared this might go wrong.

He nudged Skreem, as gently as he could.

"I think I need your help again," he told her.

* * *

><p>It took a frustratingly long time to reach the lakeshore, but the journey there seemed to calm Skreem down. Maybe it was the plodding way they were forced to walk – planting Lars's one good foot methodically in the mud and letting Skreem support his weight as he gingerly swung forward to take another step. Maybe it helped to have something to focus on. It couldn't have hurt that there were mutants all around them now, dousing the fires where they threatened to spill out of control. Whatever the reason, Skreem swallowed determinedly and began to hold her head a little higher.<p>

Some of the mutants waved and called out to her as they passed. She nodded and stayed stoic.

"Are you going to tell them?" she whispered to Lars, once they were alone again.

"Tell who what?"

"Tell everyone I was scared." She swallowed again. "I didn't mean to be. I've seen bad things. I've seen blood, and I've seen people die, and I'm not scared – I wasn't scared -"

"I was scared."

"No you weren't!"

Skreem seemed to forget her usual reverence for him in her disbelief; it made Lars smile.

"Sure I was," he said. "I bet Leela was scared too, under all that . . . Leela . . . ness . . . she has. You know what I mean."

This got a wistful little sigh.

"I wish I could be like her," Skreem said, frowning at her own reflection in a puddle. "She's so beautiful. And I bet she _wasn't_ scared. I don't think she's scared of anything."

_I think she's scared of everything, _Lars thought. _She just squashes it down where she can't feel it._ But he decided not to say this out loud.

"Well I was scared," he ventured instead. "Definitely. I'm a coward."

"You are not."

Lars grinned.

"Am too. Look, watching people die is bad, but it's still not _you_, you know? It's different when it is, and it only makes sense to be afraid. Nobody wants to die. I nearly died a few times, and the only reason I wasn't scared was because I never saw it coming. And because I'm not the brightest, let's face it. Leela's right – it's smart to be scared. It keeps you alive." He squeezed Skreem's shoulder, which was the nearest he could come to a hug. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

Skreem stiffened, and he wondered if the gesture had been ill-judged – but she was looking at something off in the distance. She turned to him, her eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

"They're up there," she said breathlessly. "We're getting close. I can see them talking."

"You can?" Lars frowned, incredulous. "Wow, I wish I had your eyes. I can't see squat."

"Your eyes would get better if you lived here."

"That's probably true."

"Maybe -" Skreem hesitated. "Maybe you will," she stuttered. "If the surface beats us you could come live down here. You and Miss Leela and her baby. I'd like that."

Lars felt his frown deepen.

"Maybe," he said carefully, not wanting to tell her a life spent in the sewer was Leela's idea of hell. "Or hey, you could come live on the surface."

"With you?" The question came out so quickly it was obvious she hadn't meant to say it aloud. The mutant girl clapped a hand to her mouth. "I meant – I didn't mean –"

"I, uh . . . I don't really have anywhere to live right now," Lars said truthfully. "But you could stay with me, if I did. I don't see why not."

They had come to a halt.

"Live on – on the surface? With you?"

Lars shrugged.

"If you want."

Skreem went quiet. Lars didn't know what to make of that, but they had nudged their way through the crowd by then and he could see Leela, mercifully unharmed, standing in a pool of dull green light. She was talking to the brawny female officer in charge of the NNYPD squadron.

"Leela," he breathed.

They inched closer, and the voices became clearer.

" . . . got some ovaries, I'll give you that," the unknown woman was saying. She had one of those voices that sounded like it was coming through a loudspeaker even at low volume. "Got us right where you want us."

"I want to talk terms."

Leela's voice was steady. Lars could only see her from behind. Her back was straight and still.

The unknown woman's face was hard, but there was a definite, grudging respect there.

"You know I don't have the authority to do that," she said. "I follow orders from on high, I'm no diplomat. You want Poopenmeyer for that. Maybe Nixon."

"Nixon?"

"Mmm." She spat thoughtfully in the gutter, oblivious to the offense she had obviously given the mutants by doing so. "We're past hushing this up. They want to make an example of you. Put you back where you belong and make sure no mutant even thinks about rebelling for another thousand years. You've stirred up a hornet's nest in my city, girl."

"That was the plan."

"Worked pretty damn well as far as I can see. But you won't ever get your rights. Surface feeling's not in your favor and Nixon's spitting mad from what I hear. I can't see him backing down any time soon."

"He will. And in the meantime, _you _will."

"Is that a fact?"

"Yes." Leela folded her arms. "Unless you plan on jumping in the lake, that _is_ a fact."

She nodded down at a limp wet bundle at the chief's feet. It wore a tattered, soaking blue uniform and breathed in fast, shivery sobs. What limbs Lars could make out were twisted at odd angles, and suckers gleamed on a patch of exposed flesh. It was a cop, he realized. One of them had fallen in the lake and mutated. He couldn't decide whether the guy deserved his pity or not. He barely looked old enough to be in the force.

Chief – _O'Mannaghan_, Lars read, squinting at her name tag – had fallen silent.

"Even if you could arrest me," Leela continued, "what would be the point? Your orders don't make any sense."

O'Mannaghan snorted. The sound suggested nonsensical orders were not a new thing for her.

"How's that?" she asked.

"You can't deport me," Leela said calmly. "Or rather, you can, but only as far as Cookieville, which is on the surface – the exact place you don't want me to be. I'm a registered citizen. You can't strip me of that status on grounds of species. It goes against every interstellar convention we have. The state might have refused to recognize the mutants down here, but they recognized _me_ the moment Warden Vogel picked up that basket at Cookieville Orphanarium. The state can't disown its own citizens." She smiled. "It's a catch-22, Chief O'Mannaghan. If I'm a citizen, then what you're doing amounts to persecution on the grounds of species, and it's illegal under interplanetery law. If I'm _not _a citizen, then this isn't a matter of civil unrest - it's a war, and the police have no place in it."

"I still have you on disturbance of the peace."

"No, you don't. I resisted a questionable attempt at arrest, officer. As I said, if I'm a citizen I can't be arrested simply for _existing -"_

"And the officers who died down here tonight?" O'Mannaghan interrupted. "Who do I pin their deaths on?"

"Mutants died too!" an angry voice shouted from the crowd.

Leela held up a hand, halting things before they could go any further.

"Mutants died defending themselves," she said quietly. "Your officers died too, carrying out bad orders. They _killed_ on bad orders. I don't blame them, and I don't think you blame us for defending ourselves. Like you said, you just follow orders. You have to or the whole system would break down. I understand that. But I'm suggesting you re-examine those orders, officer, just this once, and see if maybe someone higher up can decide if they're legal or not. Take your dead and wounded. We won't hold you prisoner. We just want you to leave."

"That's a generous offer."

"Believe it or not, we're not monsters. Do we have a deal?"

O'Mannaghan flicked the safety back on her gun and stowed it in her belt.

"You understand," she said carefully, "that I'm not in a position to make deals of that kind." She was frowning, her gaze fixed on a point somewhere to the left of Leela's head. "But it seems to me," she went on, "that my officers are backed into a corner here and our position has become untenable. Seems to _me_ like the smart thing to do is to retreat at this point. And who knows? Maybe when I get back to the surface I might express some concerns I have to the mayor, about the legality of this whole operation. Who can say?"

Leela smiled thinly. "Who can say?" she echoed.

O'Mannaghan nodded curtly and stepped back, bellowing to her troops.

"Alright ladies! Get your vulvas in gear, we're movin' out!"

"Wait!" Leela called, as they began to move off. "What about him?"

She indicated the boy on the ground.

O'Mannaghan looked down briefly, then shook her head.

"Can't bring a mutant to the surface," she said shortly.

Her boots splashed through the muck as she moved off, and then she was gone, and Lars was stepping over the whimpering boy on the ground and into the stiff arms of his wife.

Leela was shouting orders to anyone who would listen. She didn't smile when Lars said "They're gone," in disbelief, but she let him lean on her, and ran her fingers over the bandages under his shirt like she was checking to make sure he was still in one piece. She sat and talked to the mutant council for a while, while Skreem and some other mutant medics fussed around the mutated boy. Mutants came and went with reports. They surrounded Leela, looking to shake her hand and embrace her, even when she tried to tell them she hadn't done much and anyway it wasn't over yet . . .

Eventually the faintest trace of surface light began to leaven the gloom of the sewer, and the crowd fell away. By the time they stumbled back to the Turanga household the two of them were holding each other up, too exhausted to think straight. Lars fell into bed beside his wife and slept like the dead.


	46. Chapter 46

**A /N: Thanks Emily, and everybody else!**

* * *

><p>It was late when Leela awoke – though how late she couldn't have said. Natural daylight rarely filtered through to the sewer. The settlement was pitch black at night and a kind of greenish twilight at every other time of day. But she knew she'd stayed awake until the early hours of the morning organizing the mutant defense, and she could feel a heaviness in her limbs, a faint ache behind her eye that made her sure she'd slept a long time. Maybe an entire day. It was hard to say.<p>

It was unusual. She hadn't slept this well in weeks. She had grown used to snatching catnaps during the day or falling asleep at odd moments, as her body tried to make up for another poor night's rest. At night her head was too full of plans and possibilities, she couldn't shut it off anymore. If it wasn't the mutant uprising occupying her thoughts, it was the thousand ways her baby could grow into a monster, or the myriad ways she could have prevented this. Like not sleeping with Fry, or not marrying Lars. Or never trying to convince herself she didn't love him in the first place. Maybe then none of this would have happened. What if she had said yes to one of those dates he'd asked her on? Or given him a chance after he wrote her that opera? What if she had woken up from that coma and kissed him til he could hardly breathe, because he was _alive _and she had never known how much that meant to her until he wasn't? What then? Would it have changed anything?

Maybe nothing would be different. Maybe everything would be. All Leela knew was that she lay awake at night turning the whole thing over in her mind, and never came up with any answers.

She shifted and suddenly became aware of a dip in the mattress beside her – a warm form snoring next to her. She rolled over to get a better look at him.

Lars.

"Oh, crud," Leela whispered.

It wasn't so surprising. Old habits died hard. She had spent two years married to Lars, so it didn't feel strange to fall asleep next to him, and she couldn't blame him for forgetting. But she should have stopped him. She was supposed to be setting boundaries between them – she couldn't afford to get tired and forget. That kind of weakness led to dangerous places, like screwing Fry on the floor of his apartment because it seemed better than screaming _"I love you!"_ in his face. That kind of thinking led to insanity.

Leela sighed and eased herself out of bed, stretching when her feet hit the floor. She had slept in her clothes. They reeked of sweat and sewer muck, so she shed them and went for a shower. The water was cold and whatever passed for soap down here was made the old-fashioned way, from animal fat. It was thick and greasy and Leela could feel traces of it still stuck in her hair after she dried off, but didn't have the energy to get back in the tub again and rinse it off. So she left it and dressed instead. The stretch pants she had always favored still fit fine (the industrial-strength elastic waistband would probably see her through her entire pregnancy, come to think of it) but when she went to tuck in her tank top it stubbornly rode up again. Leela frowned and tried a second time. No luck. Even sucking in her breath didn't help. No matter what she did, that little crescent moon of exposed flesh poked out, insisting she notice it.

She pulled on one of Munda's lumpy knitted sweaters and determined to ignore it instead. She was hyper-sensitive, she reasoned. No-one else would notice her midriff was slightly less toned than it used to be. The only reason it stuck out to her was because she'd been working out since the age of fifteen and prided herself on her core strength.

Lars stirred behind her.

"Leela?" he mumbled. "Wha . . . oh no. Why am I here? What did I do?"

Leela pushed him down again.

"Relax," she said. "Nothing happened. You slept here, that's all. You forgot. You were tired, Lars. It happens."

"I'm sorry."

Lars grimaced and tried to get up again, but Leela quietly pushed him back down.

"You should rest," she said. "I'll send someone to look you over in a while. I don't want to find out you did any more damage last night. Lord knows things are bad enough as it is."

Lars frowned.

"They are? But we won, didn't we?"

"This time. If I know Nixon, he won't let this lie." Leela forced a smile. "Just rest. You need it."

"So do you," Lars objected. "Morris told me you're not sleeping."

Leela sighed.

"I'm not doing this right now," she said irritably. "I'm fine. I slept last night, didn't I?"

"Did you?"

Leela cursed herself.

"Yes, I did. So I'm fine, okay? Let it go." She adjusted the pillow behind his head, sighing again when Lars caught her elbow. "I have to go get something to eat. Can it wait?"

Lars smiled.

"You're not getting sick so much anymore," he said. "Is that a good thing?"

"I think so."

"Good. I'm glad." He rubbed his cheek, thinking. "Leela?"

"Mmm?"

"Does it help? Having me around, I mean. Or does it make it worse?" His hand dropped from her elbow to the fist she had wrapped around the bedstead. His thumb ran idly over her fingers. "It's just . . . I wanted to keep you safe, that's all I was thinking about. I don't want to hurt you."

Leela stared at him, confused.

"You're not," she said. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She watched her husband's brow furrow. He gestured at her stomach.

"Fry," he said, as if it was obvious.

"I don't think about Fry," Leela said automatically.

"You don't?"

"Hardly ever." The lie came just as smoothly as before. Leela had to wonder when she got so _good_ at this. "I have so much else to do," she finished. "I really don't have time."

She was halfway to the door when she heard her husband's voice behind her.

"Morris says you don't sleep," he said quietly. "And he says you talk in your sleep when you do."

"Lots of people talk in their sleep."

"He said you say my name. Fry's name."

Leela huffed, blowing her bangs out.

"I probably say _Bender's_ name," she said dismissively. "It doesn't mean anything."

She could feel his eyes on her from the other side of the room.

"No," he murmured. "You're probably right. I just thought I'd ask."

Leela shut the door with a quick '_click' _and pressed her forehead momentarily against the cool wood. She sucked in a deep breath and swallowed it down, feeling it settle in the pit of her stomach.

Then she straightened up and strode off in the direction of the kitchen.

* * *

><p>She found her mother sitting at the table, knitting what looked like a giant, yellow woolen condom.<p>

"It's a sweater for Leg Mutant," she said cheerfully, pulling out a chair with her tail.

Leela sat down obligingly.

"It's nice."

"Thank you, sweetie. Are you hungry? I could fix you something. You must be hungry - you slept all day. What would you like?"

Leela found herself smiling. It was a fairly thin, anemic version of a smile, but at least it was genuine.

"I'd kill for some pancakes," she said.

The smile seemed to please her mother, so she kept it on as Munda busied herself at the stove. For a while the kitchen was filled with the bustling, concentrated warmth Munda brought to any space, no matter how small. It was a feeling Leela had used to dream about as a child. Comfort, but a special kind of comfort. The best word she could find was _motherliness. _

"I'm starting to show," she admitted.

Munda turned around.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"I thought I'd have more time."

One of Munda's tentacles snaked out and suckered onto her shoulder in a reassuring squeeze.

"I'll knit you some more sweaters," she said. "They say a sweater hides a multitude of sins."

_I doubt it would hide a whole lovechild, _Leela thought, but she kept this to herself. Her mother meant well, after all. And maybe she was right – maybe Fry would return before it became too obvious, and a well-placed sweater would hide the situation just fine in the meantime.

Munda set the plate of pancakes down in front of her. They were grayish, made with some fungus of indeterminate origin and speckled with dried parsley. Leela attacked them with her fork and fingers, hardly stopping to chew. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until she smelled the food.

Munda watched her eat, smiling indulgently.

"Oh my," she said. "I think he's going to have his father's appetite."

"Uh . . . he?" Leela asked, bewildered.

"Or she, of course. I suppose you don't have any idea yet. Though when I was pregnant with you I remember I had the strongest feeling you were a boy. Of course I was wrong about that."

Leela pushed her plate away, suddenly full. She wished people would stop talking about the baby. Sitting in the Turangas' warm and homely kitchen, watching her mother fuss over her, only served to remind her that this kind of thing didn't come naturally to her. Leela had never had a mother growing up; only the vague, distant care of Warden Vogel, and the taunts of the other orphans. She wasn't sure she knew how to be a child's mother, and deep down she was terrified of getting it wrong. She had seen a glimpse of it in herself the night before, during the battle. That little lizard-like girl had been there, scared stiff, and Lars had instinctively gone to comfort her. Leela, on the other hand, hadn't even noticed she was upset. It had never occurred to her to send the girl home, which seemed like an unnatural response for a mother-to-be.

She told herself she had looked after Nibbler successfully for years, but that wasn't the same. Her pet pretty much came and went as he pleased. She didn't even know where he was right now, if she was being honest. Then there was Fry, of course. Leela had successfully kept him alive for over ten years – no mean feat when weighed against his recklessness and abject stupidity. But keeping him safe wasn't the same as keeping him happy. Fry had never known how she felt about him. Her self-denial had made them both miserable, and when she had managed to give him some idea of how she really felt, she'd got it all wrong and wound up losing him. Would she really do any better with his child? Part of her was terrified she wouldn't.

Munda touched her arm gently.

"Penny for your thoughts, sugar pea."

Leela shook her head.

"It's nothing," she said. "Nothing at all."

"Are you sure? It doesn't look like nothing."

"It . . ." Leela changed her mind mid-sentence. "Mom, can I axe you something?"

"Anything, sweetie."

"How did you give me up?"

Munda blinked.

"Well, you know that, honey. You could never have a real life down here -"

"No." Leela took a deep breath, avoiding her mother's eye. "I don't mean why. I know why. I want to know _how_, Mom. How did you decide to give me up? How long did you keep me for, before you – before . . ." She trailed off. "You don't have to answer. I'd understand."

Munda drew back a little. There was a long silence.

"Three days," she said at last. "We kept you three days."

"It took you three days to decide?"

Leela swallowed. For three days she'd been a daughter. For three days her future could have been entirely different.

But Munda was shaking her head.

"No," she said sadly. "It took me three days to talk Morris round. I knew right away."

"What?"

"I knew the minute I saw you. Maybe the first time I held you, I don't know for sure. I was pretty woozy with the pain. But it was soon. You were so perfect, so beautiful, Leela . . . you didn't belong here." She sighed, gesturing at the candle on the table. "I used to sit like this for hours with you, staring. Just staring. Your toes, your hair . . . that big bright eye." She smiled fondly. "You had wonderful muscle control, even then. I thought you might grow up to be a dancer someday."

"I like dancing," Leela mumbled.

Fry had been a good dancer, she remembered suddenly. It was one of those strange idiosyncrasies he had. He was clumsy as hell but once you taught him to do something muscle memory seemed to keep a hold of it forever. It made him a good dancer, a good shot. A surprisingly good lover, under direction. Leela was half-convinced he'd be a good musician too, if he could get over his own conviction he needed super-powers to play properly.

She sighed, pushing him out of her mind again.

"I like dancing," she said again. "But you didn't send me away to become a dancer, Mom. You sent me away to be an orphan. To think I had _no-one. _Was it that easy? How could it be that easy?"

She stared at her mother; tried to imagine those tentacles caressing her cheek, those worn leather shoes walking away. How had she done it? Hadn't her conscience screamed at her with every step?

"It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do," Munda said. "And the easiest, all at the same time. It was right for you, sweetie. That was all I needed to know. I love you, Leela. I always have."

There was a long silence, as Munda began to tear up and Leela struggled to think of an appropriate response.

"Thank you," she said at last.

She didn't know what else to say so she let her mom embrace her and tell her she loved her again. Then she went and washed the dishes.

"It's the least I could do to pitch in," she said when Munda protested. But the truth was, she was glad of a chance to turn her back, so she could wrestle with her feelings unobserved.

Her parents were good people. Good, selfless people, who were obviously better than she would ever be. Which made it doubly awful that she was mad at them. They had given her up over thirty years ago, for good reasons. It wasn't fair to resent them for it. She'd had a good life, hadn't she?

Of course she had.

Still . . . how could it be that easy? How could you set your child down on some stranger's doorstep and walk away? How could you give her to people you knew wouldn't come running when she cried? Did good reasons cover that? Did _good reasons_ stop you aching to hold her when you lay awake at night?

She watched her fingers wrinkle in the dirty dishwater.

Maybe they did. Maybe she was being unfair. Then again . . .

_You had good reasons for sending Fry away, _she told herself. _You had good reasons for starting this war._ _Do they still seem good?_

* * *

><p>The fallen mutants were submerged the following morning. Their bodies were wrapped in old sacking and weighted with half-bricks; they sank into the smooth, glassy green surface of the lake with barely a ripple. A man Leela had never seen before – who had a fat, fleshy face, and over-sized spider legs sprouting from his abdomen – was chanting something slow and onerous that got a lot of nodding from the congregation.<p>

" . . . may their spirits be lifted from this earthly residue and guided to the great sewer above . . ."

Leela tuned him out and stared instead at the memorial pictures of the dead, which had been erected behind him. There were six of them. Six dead mutants, killed in an uprising she had planned.

She stared at them for the rest of the service, and when prompted she stood up and gave a speech. Later on she wouldn't remember anything in it. She talked about their bravery, maybe, and the future they had given their lives for. When it was over she sat down and stared at the faces again. Six of them.

She didn't recognize a single one.

* * *

><p>There were two surface officers who had been contaminated by mutagens from the lake before they died. Their bodies were so warped they had been left behind, and no-one really knew what to do with them. It fell to Leela to suggest burning them.<p>

The flames that licked at each pyre had a blue-green cast and the smoke stung her eye, but Leela refused to look away. She watched flesh melt from bone, and felt the heat of the fire tan her face, and resolutely held down her lunch.

The cremations drew a small crowd, but no-one seemed confident enough to get close to the pyres. They mostly hung back in the shadows, watching. There was an atmosphere of some kind in the air, but Leela couldn't read it. She couldn't decide if the mutants were silent because they thought a funeral was too good for people who had killed their friends, or if they were simply shocked. These were probably the first surface people to die in the sewers in centuries Maybe they'd forgotten surface people bled the same way they did, without their fancy hospitals to patch them up again.

Lars broke the tension eventually by stepping forward to say some words. Most of his speech was a riff on what Leela herself had said to O'Mannaghan the night before.

_The system was broken. _

_Their orders were bad. _

_It wasn't their fault they'd come down here to kill. _

_They just need to be taught that mutants aren't monsters._

(Lord. Had she really taken her husband's naivety for optimism, before? Had she really not known he was Fry? It was hard to believe, in hindsight.)

That little mutant girl was by his side again, helping him stay upright. She was wearing a baggy nurse's smock and her eyes were fixed on the ground. Clearly she didn't like being the center of attention, but was willing to endure it to help Lars.

Leela frowned. Did lonely people just gravitate to Fry? Was it genetic? Or was it just coincidence he seemed to make friends with every misfit he'd ever encountered?

He was gabbling some half-remembered surface prayers now. They sounded vaguely First Amalgamated. When he was done he made his way over to Leela.

"You wanna go?"

She shook her head.

"I'd rather stay." She nodded at the funeral pyres. "I want to see it finished."

Lars nodded.

"I understand." He looked at Skreem. "Could you leave us? You don't want to watch this."

"Okay." The girl bobbed her head. "That's a nice sweater, Miss Leela," she said shyly. She darted off before Leela had a chance to respond.

Lars shifted his weight awkwardly, trying to stop his crutches sinking into the mud.

"That is a nice sweater. You cold?"

Leela coughed.

"Something like that," she said. "You don't have to be here, you know."

"I know. I want to be. Anyway, you shouldn't be alone."

Leela laughed; a strange, distorted sound in the fog. She folded her arms, feeling for the lump under her sweater.

"I'm not."


	47. Chapter 47

**A / N : Sorry I went AWOL, guys. I work and study full-time, so I don't get as much time to write as I'd like. Trying to fix that.**

**Amy baby: I love Amy. She's not the main focus of this story by any means, but I've tried to keep her present all the same, and to show her as more than just a promiscuous ditz. I'm glad you think I got her right! You know, I think you're the first person to notice that Fry and Lars both wound up with broken ribs, are both angry at Nibbler, and are both fighting authority structures. Go you!**

**Graie: Fangirl as much as you want – there's no way I'll mind! That stuff keeps me going. Oh, that chapter with the video tapes was one of my favorite things to write, even though it kind of broke my heart. The bit where he gives the baby his seven-leaf clover _might_ have made me tear up a bit. I'm not ashamed.**

* * *

><p>Fry kicked back in the passenger seat, yawning as he watched the stars whizz past.<p>

"I spy something beginning with . . . s."

Silence.

"It's not space."

No response.

"It's not stars this time either. I know it was stars the last two times, but this time I _swear _it's not stars."

He looked sidelong at Glottus. The captain was doing his best to ignore him, but had started to rub his temple with one hand – a sure sign he was getting annoyed.

Fry grinned.

"It's 'ship'! Okay, now you go."

His companion ground his teeth and tugged hard on the gearstick, making the hovervan jump.

"I wouldn't play this game with my four year old daughter," he snapped. "Find something else to do."

"There _is _nothing else to do," Fry whined. "I'm bored. I can't just sit here while you do all the driving, dude."

Glottus clipped him around the ear.

"Don't call me 'dude'," he instructed. "I may not be your commanding officer but I'll be damned if I let some civilian call me 'dude'."

Fry scowled. He slouched further into his seat, nursing his ear.

"Still bored," he groused.

"Get some sleep."

"I don't want to. Last time I went to sleep I had this dream where I was back in the cryogenics lab and I got hungry, but when I opened the pizza box a Brainspawn jumped out, and then it grew these tentacles and started strangling me like _aggghhhhh _-" Fry waved his arms wildly - "and you know what the worst part was? I never even got any pizza."

This got a long silence. Glottus scratched his cheek.

"Maybe it's a sign your memory is coming back," he said at last, as he steered them left of an asteroid belt. "Dreams are supposed to be wired to your subconscious, right? Your brain uses them to make sense of everything that happened in your day. I heard that somewhere. If you're dreaming about these Brainspawn, could be your memories are starting to surface again."

Fry frowned.

"I don't know," he mused. "I don't think a Brainspawn could fit in a pizza box."

"I didn't mean it that literally, kid. I meant -"

"It would have to be a really big pizza. Or a really tiny Brainspawn. And in the dream it was pretty big . . ."

Fry waved his arms again, approximating the size of his dream attacker.

"Right."

"And I've never seen a tiny Brainspawn, I mean, they're like, people-sized. If you squashed a person into a big pink jell-o and it floated around in this big bluey-purple haze thing. Aura. Whatever. I think they zap you, like _bzzzzzt_ -"

Glottus groaned. He was kneading his forehead with the knuckles of one hand. His expression was the one Fry's parents used to wear during long road trips with their son.

"I'm gonna take a wild guess here," he said abruptly. "You have ADHD."

Fry blinked.

"How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess. Want me to get you a 'scrip when we next stop? Ritalin? Medical marijuana? Whatever normally shuts you up. It's on me."

"Nah."

"You sure?"

Fry waved a dismissive hand, reaching back into the van for another can of Slurm.

"My parents never let me take prescription drugs. My dad used to say big pharma was in league with the Russians and they were doping up America for the great Commie takeover."

"What?"

"And my mom used to say there was nothing wrong with me cutting down on sugar wouldn't cure."

"We're selling the rest of that soda next time we stop," Glottus decided.

Fry opened his mouth to object and got distracted by a quasar shimmering on the horizon. It was a hazy pale purple; the color reminded him of Leela's hair reflected in the ship's windscreen, when he was staring at her and didn't want her to see.

He fell silent, gazing out at it.

It kept happening. Every time he thought he'd managed to forget about her for a while, something would occur to remind him of Leela, back on Earth. Fry couldn't decide if it helped or hurt to think of her. Mostly it was just weird. The Professor had probably hired a new delivery boy by now. Which meant someone else was probably annoying Leela on deliveries - or maybe not annoying her at all – and someone else was learning her favorite fast food and finding out she was a mutant and watching her let her guard down for the first time. And feeling nothing at all. They wouldn't love her like he did, which felt vaguely unnatural to Fry. Over the years he had come to associate going to work with seeing Leela. It was why he had kept going in, even after she'd gotten married. It was why his job at Planet Express had lasted so long; why the good days had always seemed to outnumber the bad, somehow, whenever he considered quitting. Until recently, anyway.

Another thought struck him. Bender might not be working there anymore either. It wasn't like the robot cared all that much about earning an honest wage, and in recent years his relationship with Leela had become prickly - probably because he'd had to listen to one too many drunken lamentations about her from Fry. (Fry himself was usually too drunk to remember, but more than once he'd woken up after an all-nighter to find the robot glaring daggers at him and sporting a rusty jawline.)

What would be worse, he wondered: if his old life carried on the same without him, or if it fell apart in his absence and left him nothing to come back to? Not that he wanted to go back. Then again, maybe he did. Lately Fry couldn't decide how he felt about that either.

It was only when Glottus started shooting him funny looks that Fry realized he'd been staring at the quasar for twenty minutes in wistful silence.

He sighed. Then his forehead crinkled in thought, as something he'd overlooked before finally trickled through.

"Woah, woah, wait a minute . . . you have a daughter?"

"What?"

"You have a daughter," Fry repeated. "You said you wouldn't play this game with your daughter, so you have a daughter."

Glottus scowled.

"It's a figure of speech."

"Oh. So . . . you don't have a daughter?"

There was a silence, which stretched out uncomfortably. The captain stared ahead, unblinking. Fry got the impression he was seeing something other than the stars.

"I do," he said at last. "I have kids."

Fry felt his stomach dip.

"Um," he said nervously. "They're not . . . um . . . y'know . . ."

"They're not dead."

"Phew!"

"I just haven't seen them since all this started." Glottus dropped down a gear, like he needed time to think. "I don't know if I'll ever see them again."

"Why not?" Fry asked, confused.

Glottus shot him a look like he was crazy.

"I was framed for murder by the most powerful force in the galaxy," he said slowly.

"Okay, but -"

"I deserted from the DOOP."

"So?"

"The penalty for desertion is death, kid."

"Not if you can prove you're innocent," Fry argued. "Not if you can prove it was really the Brainspawn that killed all those people. Then you'd be a hero, and the DOOP would be -"

"The DOOP would be the assholes who couldn't identify a Category One threat, and framed one of their own when he started to investigate," Glottus said flatly. "If you see them owning up to that, you're more naive than I thought."

Fry swallowed.

"But – but -" he sputtered.

"It suits the DOOP better if I'm a dead deserter," the Captain told him. "Of course, that's assuming the brains don't get me first. All in all, my chances of ever seeing home again are pretty slim."

"What about mine?" Fry blurted out. The thought of never seeing Leela again felt like a knife to the gut; like the space bee's stinger sinking in all over again.

Glottus simply shrugged.

"I'll get you home if I can, but I won't swear to it. That's the best I can do. You want to take your chances on your own, you can."

Fry nodded, watching stars and space debris flick past. Somewhere out there the Brainspawn were massing. He was the only one who could fight them, but that was no use unless he knew where to find them. Glottus was right. Some enemies you could charge blindly at, but for some you needed a battle plan – and the only way he could formulate one of those was by gathering all the available information and figuring out what it meant.

His eyes wandered to the golden data nugget around the Captain's neck. On it were the details of every unexplained death the DOOP had encountered in the past two years. _Information._ That was what he needed. The memories someone had stolen from him were what he really wanted, but for now he'd take what he could get.

"I'll stick with you," he said.

* * *

><p>Days turned into weeks, and Fry's life took on a routine. During the day, he and Glottus took it in shifts to drive the newly-disguised hovervan. At night they set up camp somewhere out of the way and went through the reams of data on the DOOP info-key again, painstakingly analyzing two years worth of death and disappearances.<p>

Two weeks in, Glottus figured out how to hack into the DOOP radio frequency, and gave Fry the job of listening to it and writing down anything that sounded like Brainspawn-related activity. In the evening the former delivery boy would hand over his poorly-written notes and the two of them would try to pinpoint the current whereabouts of the brains.

The problem was the hovervan. It was cramped, and creaky, and Fry was sure Glottus had damaged the heating coils when he ran him down in Mars Vegas. But the worst part was that it was slow. As time wore on, Fry found he missed the old Planet Express ship more and more. Journeys that would have taken hours in his old ship now took days or even weeks, and by the time they reached their destination the DOOP had often cordoned it off and they were forced to retreat. Fry was starting to dream of warp drives and dark matter-powered engines.

"Ooh – ow! Trisol!" he said one night.

The piping hot filling of a Fishy Joe's apple pie had just burst into his mouth and burned his tongue, but he ignored it. Instead he stabbed a sugar-dusted finger at the word in his notes.

"What about it?" Glottus asked.

"They said on the broadcast the planet's gone dead. All the people just disappeared one day. Total radio silence. Suspicious, right?"

Glottus stretched his legs out by the fire, groaning.

"Ah, my back . . ." he muttered. "I'm too old for this shit. Alright, alright. Trisol," he mused. "That's not far from here."

Fry risked another bite of apple pie.

"That's what I thought," he said through his food. "We could check it out."

"What makes you think the DOOP won't be all over it?"

Fry grinned.

"Because they're not in the DOOP," he said. "DOOP stands for Democratic Order Of Planets, right?"

"So I'm told."

"Well -" - Fry's grin widened - "Trisol's not a democracy."

The captain looked skeptical.

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely."

"It's not that I'm casting doubt on your intelligence here, kid," Glottus pointed out. "But Trisol is a long way from Earth, and I can't help but notice you're spelling it 'Trysol'."

Fry waved this off.

"So I can't spell it. I can't spell lots of stuff. But I know Trisol. I've _been_ there."

Glottus looked up, startled.

"You have?"

"Sure." Fry gestured at their map of the Brainspawn's movements. "I've been to all these places."

Silence.

"I'm a delivery boy," he explained, when an explanation seemed required.

Glottus was staring him, his mouth hanging slightly open.

"Let me get this straight," the older man said at last. "We've been going over this map for weeks trying to figure out what the Brainspawn want. Looking for some connection. Some_ reason_ they target some planets and skip over others."

"Yeah . . .?"

"And you're telling me the connection is you."

"What?" It was Fry's turn to stare. "What are you talking about?"

"Do you know how big the universe is?" Glottus demanded. "Do you know what the odds are of you visiting every place on this list?"

"No?"

"They're pretty damn small!" The captain jabbed the map, his finger hopping from one marker to another as he followed the Brainspawn's trajectory. "Balls, kid. You're the only one in the universe not affected by these things, and it doesn't even occur to you they might be looking for you?"

"No!"

"Why the hell not?"

"I don't know!" Fry struggled for an answer. "I'm not . . . y'know. Important."

Glottus was rubbing his temples again.

"Christ," he muttered.

"You really think they're looking for me?" Fry repeated.

He felt dazed.

"It makes sense." Glottus indicated the map again. "Our first reported disturbance was here, right?" He pointed. "That's where the craft came through, two years ago."

"The anomaly thing. The rip in space."

"Right. That's the first sighting," Glottus continued. "The first deaths. From there they've been moving outward, stopping -" - he tapped the relevant markers - "- anywhere there's a record of you." He stared at the map for a long minute, then smacked it in annoyance. "This still doesn't tell us what they want. You're a threat to their plans, but we still don't know what the hell those plans are."

"We know thinking hurts them," Fry pointed out. "Maybe they want to stop everyone in the universe thinking somehow. Or maybe they just want what the bad guys always want. An evil empire and all that stuff."

"Maybe." Glottus shot him a look. "You still don't remember anything about the second time you fought them?"

Fry shook his head.

"No. All I remember is that it was something to do with Leela, and that doesn't make sense at all."

"Who's Leela?"

"She's . . . uh . . . it's a long story."

"Give me the short version then. Friend, lover, wife, boss . . . what?"

"Um," Fry said weakly. "All of them? I told you, it's a long story." He sighed. "She was my last captain. I fell in love with her."

Glottus raised an eyebrow.

"You do that a lot?"

"No! Just with her. She's . . . you wouldn't understand. I couldn't even make her understand, for the longest time. I'd do anything for her. I love her."

Glottus frowned.

"You think she was in danger? You think you did something to the Brainspawn to keep her safe?"

"I don't know, I don't remember. It's possible, I guess." Fry raised the remains of his apple pie to his lips, preparing to take a bite. An instant later he dashed it to the ground and jumped to his feet, horrified. "We have to warn her!"

"Say what?"

"_Leela_," Fry stressed. "We have to tell her about the brains! She can't fight them off, and if they want me, they're gonna end up on Earth! I live there! That's the first place they'll go!"

"Easy, soldier." Glottus stood up and forced him down again. "We've got time."

"No we don't! I told you, Earth is the first place they'll go! I live there! The brains -"

"Should be there already," the captain interrupted.

Fry stopped.

"Wait . . . why aren't they? I don't get it."

"I'm not surprised." Glottus sighed. "Tell me kid, how fast do you think these things move?"

"I don't know."

"They have ships?"

"No," Fry said slowly. He tried to remember the time the Brainspawn had come to Earth. "They fly, I think. Like birds. But, uh, they don't have wings."

For the first time, Glottus grinned.

"So what you're telling me is that they move about as fast as this heap of junk." He indicated the beat-up hovervan. "Which makes sense, if they came through here -" - he pointed at the anomaly on the map again – "- and it took 'em two years to get as far as Trisol. They're headed for Earth alright, but they can't move fast enough. They don't have a high-speed spacecraft."

"They could steal one," Fry suggested.

"Maybe not. Maybe there are too many of them to fit in a ship. It would explain how they're decimating whole planets overnight."

"Or maybe they can't fly ships. You know. Because they don't have arms."

"Uh . . . right. Point is, they're moving slow. And stopping anywhere you're documented."

Fry scrunched up his forehead, frowning.

"Isn't that just a big fat waste of time? Why don't they go straight to Earth, and _not _keep stopping? Seems like it'd make more sense."

Glottus shook his head.

"You're a delivery boy."

"So?"

"So, how many of your deliveries are Earth-based?"

"Oh." Fry's eyes went round. "_Oh._ Hardly any, I guess."

"Yeah. And how many contract clients do you have?"

"What?"

"People you deliver to on a regular basis," Glottus explained.

"Um. A few? If we don't screw it up."

Glottus nodded.

"Then it makes sense to check out places you've already been."

"But that means Leela's still in danger!" Fry leapt up again, hopping mad. "If the brains think I'm with her, then she's in danger! We have to warn her! If she's still at Planet Express she could go out on a delivery and walk right into a trap! And Bender too, and Amy, and – even Zoidberg!"

Glottus put a restraining hand on his shoulder. Or maybe it wasn't meant to be restraining at all – maybe it was meant to say sorry without the words.

"We can't go to Earth," he said. "We don't have time, and I can't let you walk into a trap either."

_I don't care! _Fry wanted to shout. _They're my friends, I can't let anything happen to them! _

"We have to warn them," he said stubbornly.

The captain mulled this over. He didn't seem to like the idea - but he was actually thinking about it, Fry realized. He was taking him seriously.

"One call," he said at last. "After Trisol."

Fry sank slowly to the ground again.

"Okay," he muttered. "After Trisol."

He stared down at the remains of his apple pie, suddenly aware of how hungry he was, and how tired.


	48. Chapter 48

**A / n: Thanks to my two anon reviewers! (Graie: I have the same voice in mind when I write Glottus, ahh! I'm glad it comes across in the writing.) **

**This chapter and the last one where originally supposed to be one chapter, but it was getting too long, and thematically I think there was just too much to absorb, so I split them. I feel like some of the scene breaks are a little abrupt as a result, but that's probably just me being a perfectionist about it. **

* * *

><p>The yellow sun was high in the sky when they landed on Trisol. Fry shucked off his jacket and left it in the van as they moved out.<p>

Glottus led them toward a big, ugly looking Trisolian building. It wasn't anywhere near as fancy as the palace Fry had once lived in, but rivaled it in size, which he thought was weird. Why build something that big and then stick it in the middle of nowhere? He could see across the flat dry plain for miles, and the horizon was empty. He kicked up a cloud of dust, perturbed.

"It's so quiet," he said. "Should it be this quiet?"

"I doubt it."

Fry paused, taking in the heavy duty iron locks on the gate they had just passed through. He couldn't help noticing the locks were all on the _inside. _Like they were designed to keep something in the building from getting out.

"This place is giving me the heebie-jeebies," he muttered as they pushed the door open.

Inside, the building was dark. Glottus pulled out a flashlight and panned the light over the corridor. The darkness swallowed up the narrow beam after a few paces, making it seem like the corridor went on forever. Fry's inner coward would have been happy to go home right then, but the captain was already moving forward, trying the nearest door, and when it clicked open Fry had no choice but to follow. He stepped over the threshold, watching the light bounce off the walls. They were lined with row on row of burnished metal orbs.

Fry picked one up. It was cool to the touch and gleamed dully in the light, but when he raised it to eye-level he noticed the lid, and -

"It's locked," he said, surprised. He flicked the padlock curiously with one finger, then shrugged and dashed it off the nearest stone shelf.

"What the hell?!" Glottus yelled.

Before Fry could answer him blue mist gushed from the broken orb, drenching his hand and then drying it again as every drop of moisture was wicked away from his skin and sucked into the whirling mass forming at waist-height in front of him. It solidified at last into a figure made of water. The watery crest on the figure's head was bobbled like a little girl's pigtails.

Glottus lowered his weapon.

"Is that a kid?"

"I think it's a little girl." Fry turned to the strange apparition. "Um. Hey. 'Sup."

The girl stared blankly back at him. Her eyes were as translucent as every other Trisolian he'd encountered, but they seemed emptier, somehow. The little girl gazed at him as if she, or they, weren't really there.

Glottus made a sound of impatience – probably at Fry's total ineptitude – and crouched down to the child's level. He had put his gun away, Fry noticed.

He put out a hand – carefully, so as not to spook her.

"Hey there," he said softly. "I'm Eric. This is my friend Philip." He gestured backwards at Fry, not taking his eyes off the girl's face. "What's your name, little lady?"

The girl made a strange bubbling sound and hopped away.

"We're not gonna hurt you." Glottus tapped the shattered remains of the orb. "How long you been cooped up in here, huh? You must be glad to get outta there."

The girl, who had never focused her attention on either of them, now began to wander away. When Glottus tried to catch hold of her his hand went right through her arm. She didn't seem to notice.

"I don't . . . um . . . I don't think you can help her," Fry said quietly.

Glottus rounded on him.

"She's a kid! What the hell? Why lock her up like that?"

"I don't know. I wasn't here that long," Fry admitted. "I don't know how the whole planet works."

"Are they all kids?" Glottus indicated the rows of orbs. His gun hand was shaking. "Is there a kid in every one of these things?"

Fry picked up another one.

"Only one way to find out, I guess."

He weighed the orb in his hand and then dashed it hard against the shelf. What fountained up from it this time was not a Trisolian child, but an adult. A man – skinny by Trisolian standards, with a bulbous head and wide, raving eyes. At the sight of Fry he melted immediately into a subservient puddle on the floor.

"Emperor!" he gasped. "Emperor!" He clutched wetly at the hem of Fry's pants. "Just as I foretold! The gods have seen fit to smite the unworthy, at long last! And they send us an envoy – an envoy from among the dead! - so that we, the faithful, may ascend! Praise them! Praise! Praise . . praise . . ."

He turned his face to the ceiling and began weeping noisily.

"Uh . . . what?" Fry tried to pry the alien off, but only succeeded in getting his fingers wet. He gave up quickly. "Listen, I think you're confused. I don't know what you're talking about, about the gods and smiting and all. Also, pretty sure I'm not dead. Am I?"

He pinched himself hurriedly. To his relief, it hurt.

"Wait a minute," Glottus interrupted. "You were _emperor_ of this place? And you didn't think to mention it? You didn't think this was something I might maybe need to know? We're trying to stay _undercover_ here, kid. Jesus . . ."

The Trisolian turned to him with shining eyes.

"Who is this, O Emperor? An acolyte? A celestial guardian for your royal person, perchance?"

"Um, sorta." Fry wriggled uncomfortably. "Look, can we back up on the worshipping? What happened here? Where's everybody else on the planet? Are they all inside these ball things?"

He waved the remains of the orb he'd just smashed.

"No, your solidity." The Trisolian leaned closer, smiling conspiratorially. "They were visited by demons, holy one. Flying pink demons who wrought their destruction!"

Fry and Glottus exchanged looks.

"The Brainspawn," Fry said flatly.

The Trisolian merely shrugged, water rippling across his body.

"I do not know, o lord. We none of us could see the demons. We remained in our prisons, and listened as the evil of our captors led them to turn on each other, and to die. They lost their wits but we, we remained safe! Awaiting you, o stagnant one!"

"Right. Because for some reason you think I'm your messiah. Man, I wish Bender was here. He always had really good advice about this religion stuff." Fry rubbed the bump on the bridge of his nose. "Remind me again . . . how come you thought I was _dead_?"

"Ah." The Trisolian was wearing that crafty expression again. "You test my knowledge of your exalted person! That is understandable, my lord. You were not the favorite emperor of many, and it is strange that the gods should choose you, of all that line, to serve as their mouthpiece. But my faith is strong! I shall not waver like the unbelievers! You are the savior of my people, o crimson one!"

"Yeah, right. Quick question - saving you from what, exactly?"

"Sin, your graciousness! Slavery and sickness! The corruptions of our once great nation!"

"Right, right. We were getting to that. 'Coz I just let a little girl out of a box the size of my hand and there's hundreds of those things in here. Maybe thousands, I dunno. And I can't help noticing you keep talking about prisons and captors, but you don't look so tough to me, and she definitely didn't. So what is this place?"

The Trisolian blinked. The idea that there was something the emperor didn't know seemed to throw him for a loop.

"A prison, emperor. A holding place for the mad, and the damned."

"So they think you're mad," Glottus put in quietly. "They locked you up here because you talked about judgement day and dead emperors coming back to smite everyone."

The Trisolian swiveled his glassy, orb-like eyes back to the Captain. His gaze was decidedly creepy. Like the little girl, he gave the impression of being both present and absent at the same time.

"Not at first," he said slowly. "At first I spoke merely of change, of the wrong I saw in hiding the weak and the mad and the poor in these cells out of sight. But as time progressed in my prison, in the dark, the light came to me and I understood. I saw the future and it came true!"

"Jesus," Glottus muttered. "He wasn't even mad when they put him in here."

"I didn't know," Fry said, dazed. "I was only emperor for a day. I didn't know about any of this."

He shook his head helplessly. Trisol was nothing to do with him – it had been years since he was anywhere near the place – but apart from the time they almost beat him to death, he had fond memories of being emperor. The politicians were all sneaks and bureaucrats who kept trying to stick straws in him, but the ordinary people had been fun. They seemed easy-going, pleasure-seeking. It was only now that Fry was beginning to realize the Trisolian court might have been nothing more than a construction, a way to keep the emperor happy by showing him the contented populace he wanted to see. While in the background all those sneaks and bureaucrats signed off on places like this, to hide anyone who didn't fit the happy image.

If Trisolian law applied on Earth, half the people Fry knew would have been locked up ages ago. The professor was totally cracked, Bender would never tow any party line, Leela would be out there protesting human rights violations in an instant . . . and Fry himself would probably be locked away for being too stupid.

He knelt down by the quivering alien on the floor.

"Yeah," he said, patting him on one wet shoulder. "Yeah, you saw the future. Kind of. What's your name?"

"Risnar, o - o beacon of hope."

"That's great. And, er . . . you thought I was dead because when I stopped being emperor, that's what they told everyone, right?"

Risnar looked puzzled, as if the answer was obvious.

"Yes, lord. They said you were a usurper and an interloper, and you had been put to death. Juiced, your eminence."

In the background, Fry saw Glottus grimace. Not that he blamed him. The word provided its own visual.

"Okay. Well . . . sure. This is judgement day. You're right about that. But you're not all ascending to heaven."

"We're . . . not, your holiness? Are – are we not worthy? Have we failed you?"

"No! No, it's not like that! You're super worthy, but I can't . . . I want . . . I want you to make things right here. I want you -" - Fry took a deep breath - "I want you to find all the places like this on the planet and let the people go. Don't leave anyone locked up like this. And look after them, okay? Do what you can to make them better."

Risnar nodded.

"On my honor – on my faith it will be so!"

"Awesome." Fry helped him up. "Just one more thing. You know those demons you heard? The pink ones? They're not being sent by the gods, Risnar. They're bad, and they'll kill anyone they can find. If you see them coming I want you to hide. I'm the only one who can beat them. It's like a . . . a quest. Thing. But I only have a chance if they don't know I'm coming."

"I will keep your secrets, o emissary of divine wisdom." Risnar bowed again. When he straightened up his eyes were alight with purpose. "Fight well, lord! Until we meet again!"

Fry backed out of the room with Glottus, watching as Risnar began to smash a shelf of orbs.

"Yeah," he said softly. "You too."

* * *

><p>Trisol was still on Fry's mind two days later, as they approached the nearest Galactic Gas'n'Go.<p>

Glottus kept giving him funny looks, which wasn't all that surprising. Fry was aware he hadn't spoken more than three words together since they left the planet, and was probably freaking the captain out - but he had a lot to process, and he had always been slow at that.

Glottus broke the silence at last.

"Should be there soon," he said. "You nervous?"

Fry shrugged.

"I dunno," he said truthfully. Sure, his stomach was flipping up and down at the mere thought of seeing Leela's face again, but it was a good kind of flipping. An opening-your-presents-on-Christmas-morning, losing-your-virginity, getting-on-a-rollercoaster kind of flipping.

"You haven't said much lately."

Fry stared at the Gas'n'Go, willing it closer.

"I know," he said. "I've been thinking."

"Ah. You think she won't forgive you for running out on her."

Fry chewed his cheek.

"No. I mean . . . it was over when I left. Really over. But she'll still be mad at me." He winced. "I took off in the middle of the night and didn't tell anyone where I was going. I mean, I didn't _know_. But Leela . . ." He swallowed. "Leela would worry about that. I kept meaning to send her a postcard or something, to let her know I was okay. But I was scared, I guess. I was scared of even thinking about her, back then, in case I did something dumb."

He fidgeted awkwardly in the passenger seat, wishing he had a can of Slurm or a games console. Just something to do with his hands. Talking about this was making his palms sweat. He took a deep breath.

"But she'll forgive me," he went on. "She's forgiven me for things that were a _lot_ stupider than that. And she forgave Lars, so . . ."

"Who?"

"It doesn't matter. The point is, I'm not scared of that. That's not what I've been thinking about."

"Then what is?"

Fry frowned.

"It's kind of hard to explain."

"Might as well give it a shot."

Fry shrugged again, conceding this point. He drummed his fingers thoughtfully on his knee, searching for the right words.

"Leela's like you," he blurted out.

"Huh?"

"Not – not that she looks like you, or anything. And not that she's a dude, obviously. But she's smart. And she – she cares about stuff."

"What, you don't?"

"No! I do," Fry protested. "I do care. It's just that . . . I don't notice it like Leela does. I don't see it unless it happens right in front of me, and I'm not smart enough to put all the pieces together and see how something is wrong even when it looks okay. Leela has all these causes, see." He struggled to explain. "She's always fighting something, like animal cruelty, or sexism, or Zapp Brannigan. And I used to think it was because she was, um . . . angry. She's really angry most of the time. She's always been that way. I used to think she looked for things to fight because she was angry at the world. But now I think . . . now I think she's angry because there's so much _wrong_ with the world. The universe. Whatever." He shook his head impatiently. "She could see it and I couldn't. I was standing there on Trisol and I felt how Leela must feel the _whole time_. And I hated it. With Trisol and the brains and everything you told me about the DOOP . . . you know, I used to think the future was this great place where anything could happen. And now I kind of hate it." His shoulders sagged. "That's all."

Glottus was quiet for a long time.

"It happens to everyone, kid," he said at last.

"What does?"

"Disillusionment."

"Oh."

"Turns you into a bitter, jaded cynic if you let it."

"Oh." Fry tugged at his sleeve, feeling more dejected than ever. "How do you not let it?" he asked hopelessly.

To his surprise, Glottus laughed.

"Find the good things in life," he said simply. "Your kids. The person you love. The things that are worth saving from all the bullshit." He shrugged. "If you have to fight against something, might as well find something worth fighting for."

Fry nodded slowly.

"I have Leela," he said. "And my friends. They're worth fighting for."

Glottus cuffed him round the ear, grinning.

"There you go."

The Gas'n'Go was deserted when they pulled up. Glottus jumped out to fill up the tank, and Fry went to pay. He usually did, as his was the less recognizable face.

The store was deserted save for the clerk, a gelatinous pink blob creature hunched behind the counter. She was reading a magazine, and was so bored her mouth and chin had drooped down into her neck.

"Greetings-valued-customer," she droned, not bothering to look up as Fry put a can on the counter in front of her. "Welcome-to-Galactic-Gas'n'Go. What-can-I-do-for-you-today-sir-m'am-or-other."

Logic suggested that was supposed to be a question, but the sentence had been delivered without any inflection at all, and it took Fry a minute to realize he was supposed to respond.

"Oh," he said. "Uh, hey. I'll just take this and some gas. Pump 3."

The girl sighed, her eyes rolling on their stalks. She closed her copy of Us People magazine and oozed over to the cash register.

"What-is-your-currency-of-choice-sir."

"Earthican dollars."

"Sixty-three ninety-five."

Fry dug out the crumpled notes from his pocket and counted them out. The process took some time, as it always did. Even then -

"You're ten bucks short," the clerk said blandly.

"Sorry." Fry fished out an extra twenty and handed it over. "Do you have a phone here? I have to call home."

"Out back by the john."

The clerk disappeared behind her magazine again._ HACKER-BOT LEAKS CELEBRITY NUDES! _the cover screamed. Most of Selena Go-Bot's circuit board had been splashed across the front page, headlines artfully placed to cover her modesty. Back home, Bender had probably torn that page out and stuck it on the refrigerator. The "guerilla chic" fashion spread made Fry grin though – it looked as if Leela's signature look of tank tops and men's army boots had suddenly come into style. Which was funny, because Amy had always said it never would.

"Thanks," he said to the clerk. But she didn't respond, and after a while he realized she wasn't going to. So he stepped out, throwing a last "Bye," at the magazine cover.

He found Glottus by the pay phone, eyeballing his own wanted poster.

It made for an interesting study in contrasts. The Glottus on the poster was wearing a DOOP dress uniform. An array of shiny medals glistened on his chest, and his hair had been buzzed close to the scalp. This Glottus – dress-regalia Glottus – was staring into the middle distance with a fierce, determined expression. His profile could have been carved out of rock and stamped on currency. The Glottus Fry knew, on the other hand, looked like he'd just rolled out of the gutter. The clean-shaven captain had been replaced by a guy with a scrubby beard and a mass of dark hair - flecked silver - that fuzzed out in the beginnings of a 'fro. He was wearing dusty khakis and the expression on his lined, dirty face was one of derisive amusement.

He grinned when he saw Fry looking at the poster.

"Me at my finest."

"I think you look kinda noble."

Glottus snorted.

"Noble, my ass. I look like I have gas. Always hated that picture." He turned his back on the poster and faced Fry. "Alright. Call your girl, but remember, the DOOP _will_ be monitoring your call. They can't listen to every phone call in the universe, but they don't need to. They have recognition software – the expensive kind. If the camera gets a look at my face, or you use my name in conversation, the system automatically forwards a recording of the call to the DOOP surveillance detail tasked with tracking me down. So don't use my name. Not even part of it. Don't tell her where we've been, or where we're going, and don't stay on the line too long. I'll keep an eye on you from over by the truck, but I'm sticking out of shot. If I think we need to get out of here I'll holler, and if I do _that_, I expect you to hang up the phone, pronto. No long goodbyes. Got it?"

"Get it," Fry confirmed. "I mean, got it."

"Alright, I'm moving out. Good luck."

Glottus clapped him on the shoulder and moved off, leaving Fry alone by the phone. The delivery boy picked up the receiver and emptied a handful of coins into the slot.

_Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. _

His heart was hammering so hard he thought he might be sick. It didn't help that the extension code for Earth was as long as his arm - it took him two goes to get Leela's number dialed right. When he did, it seemed to ring forever.

And then she was there, her face filling and then receding from the screen as she set the receiver down on her kitchen table.

"Leela!" he gasped – but she was already talking, and she was looking right through him.

"You've reached Turanga Leela. I can't take your call right now but if you leave a message I'll get back to you."

It was her answering machine. _Her answering machine_. Fry gaped at the screen in disbelief. He wouldn't even get the chance to talk to Leela properly, after everything.

At least he got to look at her though. The message had to have been recorded sometime after he left, because Leela wasn't wearing her wedding ring. Her fingers were bare, curled around a mug of peppermint tea. She looked sick, Fry thought, frowning. She was paler than he remembered, and her eye was puffy, like she hadn't been sleeping. Every now and then she would stop talking and press her lips together hard, then swallow like she was trying not to be sick.

"If you're calling about a jar job," she said wearily, "you want the – ugh – the Head Museum. Lars and I are separated, and I don't have the time to take his messages. I'm not his secretary. If you're calling about a delivery, you want Planet Express, and if you're calling to complain about – ugh – if you're calling to complain about Nibbler, Bender, or a delivery . . . cram it. I'm not interested."

She hesitated, fiddling with the silver bracelet on her wrist.

"Fry. If this is you . . ."

She stopped again. It had to be hard, finding the right words to say to him when she knew anyone else could hear them too.

"Fry, if you're hearing this," she said at last, "we need to talk. It's important. There are things you don't know, and I can't . . . I'd really prefer to tell you face-to-face." The cyclops sighed. She looked lost, and frustrated as hell. "Just come back," she said at last, and then the beep sounded and Fry realized she'd hit the button and cut off the recording.

Which meant it was time for him to talk.

"Um," he said, surprised. He couldn't imagine what Leela might want to tell him that was so important she had to say it face-to-face. "Hey, Leela. I don't know if you're asleep or busy or whatever, but, um . . . if you're screening my call, please pick up."

He waited.

"Oh. You're not screening my call. That's good." He swallowed. "I mean, not good that you didn't pick up, because I really, _really_ want to talk to you, but good that you're not ignoring me. Because I miss you and I still love you, and I have to tell you something really important too."

Fry stopped to catch his breath. _Slow down, doofus,_ he told himself. He took a deep breath, and forced himself to count to ten before letting it go. When he did, he felt a little calmer.

"Leela," he said again. Saying her name helped. It grounded him somehow. "I'm really sorry I left. I know you were probably mad about that. And I know you're probably worried about me, but I'm okay, I promise." He stepped back from the camera for a second and spread his arms, grinning. "See? No dismembered anythings." The smile slipped from his face. "But. But." Another deep breath. "I can't come home yet. Nibbler was right – the universe is in danger, and I think I'm the only one who can stop it. Which is crazy, I know, but – yowwww!"

Fry screamed. Something white-hot had just streaked past his ear - something that felt a lot like a bullet. He dropped and rolled on instinct.

He was bleeding, he realized numbly. The bullet must've clipped his ear, or maybe his neck. Blood was dripping in the dirt beside him and he felt sick and dizzy. He could see his attacker's feet, drawing closer, and the receiver of the video phone, swinging like a pendulum where he'd let it fall.

"You shot me," he mumbled. "You _shot_ me."

Booted feet stepped closer, and then the ugly metal snout of a shotgun was thrust under his chin - and Fry found himself staring into the blank, emotionless eyes of Captain Glottus.


End file.
